Sunny Side Up
by Shahrezad1
Summary: It’s been years since the gang was together, and time’s passed for everyone. As adults, can Arnold and Helga get past their pasts and finally see the bright side again? Rated for slight serious themes.
1. Chapter 1

Sunny Side Up

By Shahrezad1

Summary: It's been years since elementary, and time's passed for everyone. As adults, can Arnold and Helga get past their melancholy pasts and finally see the bright side again?

Standard disclaimer here. Don't own, just enjoy. End.

Chapter 1

The teacher, a man of average height but of an unaveragely pleasant personality, handed the papers back to each of his fourth grade students. Jonah watched avidly as the kind man finally reached him, bestowing the paper upon his with a smile.

"Excellent job, Jonah. Especially for your first assignment in our class," the blonde adult smiled, even going so far as to bestow a wink on the boy, "I'm sure your mom will be proud."

The boy beamed silently, taking a moment to lift the corner of his paper (A ), even as he imagined the look on his mother's face. While he did well in school, in general, his passion was writing. Prose particularly. It only seemed fitting that his inspiration, his muse, was the mother than he adored. The mother he would always protect and love.

The bell rang with no further ado, and Jonah's new classmates streamed from the room, the boy included. All that remained was the teacher and a small, bespectacled little girl. He had one page remaining, and softly placed it upon her desk. She ducked her shoulders in an effort to cease to exist. He sighed softly, and crouched until he was at her level.

"Elena, you—."

"Don't say it! Just don't say it!" the miniature brunette shouted, rising only in order to shove all her work in her backpack, "it stinks, I know. You don't have to remind me."

The teacher sighed, hand rubbing the back of his head and the ruffled cowlick there, "Elena, I wasn't going to say that. It just needs a little work, that's all."

The girl angrily frowned, arms crossing over her tiny chest, "why couldn't it have been about…aliens! Or princesses in towers!"

Frustration was tightly held in check as the adult's eye began to twitch, "it was about someone you _knew_, Elena. That's not a hard subject. You could have written about Uncle Gerald, or one of the triplets. Or even the Librarian—I know you like her. Why did you have to make someone up?"

"Imaginary friends aren't made up!" she shouted, tiny fingers curling into fists, "they're real! Like Mom's real! She isn't here, but that doesn't mean she isn't real! And you write about dead people all the time!"

"Elena Stella Babcock!" the man barked out, hands on hips in anger. Regardless, after his initial words his speech returned to its former steadiness. Tone disappointed, but steady, "you will not refer to your mother in such a manner, nor treat me that way. Do you understand me?"

Her face and bright green eyes scrunched up behind her glasses, and she stomped toward the door, "you're just angry that your precious daughter isn't absolutely perfect! You think of me more as your student then as your kid!"

"Elena…"the man gaped in surprise and hurt, "how could you think that I--."

A basketball dropped as Jonah stood in the doorway, shock littering his features. He'd forgotten his assignment, and had come back to get it, only to see the shy, quiet girl that sat behind him abruptly burst into anger.

_Her…dad? Their teacher was her dad?_

The girl who had been the first to befriend him, the first to say hello, furrowed her face up in a scowl and shoved him aside. Emitting the first words that came to her furious mind, "move it, basketball face!"

Then she was gone. And with it, Jonah's confidence. _What…what just happened? Did she just call me a… 'basketball face'?_ A single tear trickled down his cheek, and he ducked his head in grief, forgetting all about his paper as he began to retreat.

"Jonah! Jonah, she didn't mean it, I swear," the teacher rushed to his side, blonde hair ruffled and green eyes worried. The small boy sniffled silently, and his mentor risked a lawsuit with a small half-hug, "she's just angry. Angry at me, at that. And you were her scapegoat. She didn't mean it."

"O-Okay," the child replied softly, hiding his face from the man, "it's just, that's kinda like w-what…my mom called my dad. Basketball for br-brains."

A wry smile, "your mom called your dad that? Seriously?"

"Before they di-divorced."

"Ah," the teacher nodded, suddenly understanding, "I'm sorry, then. I'll ask her not to call you that anymore."

"Thank you," the boy whispered.

"Here, how about I walk you outside. Do you have a ride waiting for you?" The adult noticed the paper left at the new student's seat, and silently handed it to him, before ushering him out, post-briefcase retrieval.

"My m-mom."

The adult grinned, "the lucky lady with the story written about her. Is she really a boxer?"

Jonah smiled, grey eyes lighting as he recognized his favorite subject being introduced, "yeah! She was her college champion! And she was the star player on the basketball team!"

"And she writes poetry," the teacher added, remembering the boy's assignment.

"And she writes poetry," the boy added solemnly, respectfully. They reached the outer doors, wind buffeting them on all sides. Only two cars remained in the parking lot. A dented blue Sedan, belonging to the teacher, and an elegant pearlized pink Nissan. The teacher arched a brow, even as the boy began to smile. The driver side door had begun to open.

"Crimeny! What took you so long, Kiddo?"

The teacher blinked, forced to reconcile the image before him with the words. Jonah's mother was a slim blonde, hair slicked back into a long ponytail at the back of her neck and secured with a slim pink ribbon. Pink to match her car, and pink to match the blouse she wore, tucked into a set of casual jeans. Looking down at the boy, hair near black and skin a soft brown, he realized that the only trait they really shared was the single eyebrow that stretched across their eyebrows.

"Thanks for your help, Mr. Arnold! I really appreciate it!" And then the boy was gone, having run to the car, "sorry for being late, Mom. I accidentally left my paper in the classroom."

Her reply was lost blowing wind, but Arnold didn't miss the fond smile she bestowed on him.

_Helga? Helga was Jonah's mom?!_

_-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

--The pink Nissan was created in tribute to my mother (the make, since her car is one of the most elegant machine's I've ever seen, and definitely an indication as to her personality), as well as my roommate (the color. She does Mary Kay, and I didn't believe her when she said that they still make pink cars for well-deserving associates. Imagine my shock. Thankfully, they're rather classy, and not Pepto Bismal pink).


	2. Chapter 2

Sunny Side Up

By Shahrezad1

**Dedicated to my mother, for her endurance and strength. Everything happens for a reason. And every bad thing that occurs can be changed to good, if we just let our Heavenly Father guide us. Thanks for always looking on the bright side of things.**

Summary: It's been years since the gang was together, and time's passed for everyone. As adults, can Arnold and Helga get past their pasts and finally see the bright side again? Rated for future pranking.

Standard disclaimer here. Don't own, just enjoy. End.

Chapter 2

_A week previous…_

"Thanks Pheebs. I appreciate you airing out the old place," his mother was talking on her cell phone while driving again. Despite how many statistics he quoted on car crashes and distractions. He sighed.

"Oh, it was no problem, Helga," the Asian girl answered happily, "we did it as our 'Family Activity'. The girls cleaned while Gerald and I painted. The _old room's_ now blue, and your parents' room doesn't look a thing like it was. We took down the old wallpaper in the trophy room. You can decide what to do with that space later."

His mother smiled and pressed her phone between her ear and her shoulder so that her second hand was free. She ruffled his hair, and he pretended to dodge, "thanks again. The moving truck's coming tomorrow, so I'll probably just turn it into my office. What color was underneath the wallpaper, by the way?"

"Pastel pink," he could hear the smile in his 'Aunt's voice, "I thought that it would be best if you decided whether to keep it or not."

"You're a riot, Pheebs," one eye roll later she began to bring the conversation to a close, "well, I'm on the road right now, and Jonah's starting to give me _the_ _look_—you know which one—so I'd better go. See you on the flipside."

"Yes, I'll talk to you later. And Gerald sends his love."

"Right. Bye Phoebe," the slim phone was slipped into her pocket, cover a plain silver interrupted by a single pink heart charm. His mom had always loved pink. He was more of a blue kinda guy.

A pause sounded, but only momentarily, before he began talking, "what's my school going to be like, Mom?" he'd asked her again and again, ever since her announcement, and each time she'd answered differently. She was always like that—slow to share how she felt unless specifically asked.

"Well, Kiddo," he smiled at the nickname, "it's gonna be a big, brown building-."

"Alliteration."

"—With a big, black basketball court," she smirked.

"Doi!" the ten year-old planted his hand, palm-ward, to his forehead, "I kinda figured that. I mean, what are the people going to be like? How will the classes be set up? Stuff like that."

She kept her eyes on the road as they turned a tight corner, before finally responding, "well, I'll imagine that there'll be all sorts of people. People in cliques and people out of them. There'll be Geeks and Jocks and Preps and just normal people who're nice. Your best bet is to just treat them the same way you do with everyone," her eyes softened momentarily, moistening the delicate blue, "with a smile."

"What about the bullies?" he demanded with a frown. She'd frozen at his words, mouth slightly open, "you're letting flies in…"

"Sorry. Well, with the bullies…you just deal with them. Avoid them if you can, respect them like you would anyone else, otherwise. And if they won't stop bugging you," her lips tightened minutely, "tell an adult. Don't retaliate. They'll only try to one-up you."

Ignoring the melancholy undertone of her words, he raised his two tiny fists, grinning, "and then you'll treat them to a session with Ol' Betsy and the Five Avengers!"

"Exactly!" sadness dispelled, she grinned before her thoughts turned inward. Jonah fiddled with the radio momentarily before finding a station he liked, leaving her alone with her memories.

The last time she'd made a move this big it'd been just her, by herself, and over a decade ago. Dressed in jeans and a pink hoodie, she'd headed off to NYU on a full-ride English scholarship. Only to drop out upon falling in love and marrying, soon after.

To a girl devoid of love and affection for most of her life, Elliot Hernandez-Billings had been everything she'd ever dreamed of (and over the years she'd dreamed quite a bit). A man a decade older than her, he'd been attentive, complimentary, handsome, and extremely successful. He'd brought her from her poor-as-a-mouse Bronx apartment to an elegant high-rise, giving her everything she'd ever wanted. Even her most-beloved gift, her son.

Then his business had begun to fail, and the drinking began. And with it, the abuse. Every downfall to his pride was inflicted on his young wife, until she finally _believed_ what she'd merely assumed as a child: she was worthless and no one loved her, except for Elliot. And she was lucky he had kept her sorry hide around.

Selling cosmetics was the end result, as well as the answer. She had to hide the beatings. But with it came a sense of freedom. A realization that she wasn't completely trapped, that at least in this miniscule way she had some control. And even if she was unloved, she was definitely needed. Jonah needed her. And she wouldn't allow Elliot to hurt her son.

Two year's worth endurance had passed before she'd made enough selling cosmetics to hire an attorney and divorce the creep. Jonah had been six at the time. The years since then she'd graduated from NYU (finally!), learned how to box, and had gone on to become a secretary for a large firm, continuing to sell cosmetics on the side.

Then she'd received a letter from her estranged parents (apologizing as well as testifying of her father's anger management classes and her mother's admittance to AA), with information on their impending retirement and their choice to give the old house to her. After all, Olga was married and living in Alaska.

Letting bygones be bygones, and understanding as an adult what a rent-free situation would do for her, she'd accepted. They'd packed up their things, and were on their way. Leaving the Big Apple behind them in favor of the small city of Hillwood. Leaving Elliot behind her. And giving Jonah a chance to grow without the memory of bruises and black eyes. So he wouldn't have to worry about protecting his mother any longer.

"Is that it, Mom?" the boy, slim, short, brown, and round-headed, pointed toward a simple two-story building, front stoop worn and familiar.

A faint smile reached her eyes, "yes, that's home."

--In case you didn't notice, I totally forgot the color of Helga's house.…even after I went back and watched _HA:The Movie_ for reference. Yes, I know that I'm incredibly sad.


	3. Chapter 3

Sunny Side Up

By Shahrezad1

**Dedicated to my mother, for her endurance and strength. Everything happens for a reason. And every bad thing that occurs can be changed to good, if we just let our Heavenly Father guide us. Thanks for always looking on the bright side of things.**

Summary: It's been years since the gang was together, and time's passed for everyone. As adults, can Arnold and Helga get past their pasts and finally see the bright side again? Rated for future pranking.

Standard disclaimer here. Don't own, just enjoy. End.

Chapter 3

_It was raining. The rain poured down, depressing and grey, like a muffling blanket. Drenching him in the pain, in the sorrow. Covering him even as the black of mourning tightened about his form. Like a monsoon, the water rushed to the ground, wiping away all evidence of existence. Of her existence._

Susan Eleanor Bartling Babcock. Beloved wife, devoted mother. Lost friend. May she be with us again, someday.

_The rain poured down, until it and his tears became one. Where one began and the other ended was unknown. He was swallowed up in his grief._

_And then he heard the sniffling. A flash of purple to his left and the grip of the water was loosened. But it had its prize. _She_ was in its grasp, and would not be let go of._

_He had to save her. She was more important than him. She _had_ to be saved. Saved from her own sadness. From the snare slowly wrapping around her…_

"ELENA!"

Arnold woke drenched in sweat, shouting his daughter's name to the skies. A light spring rain pattered on the glass above him, dim in the early morning light. A quick inquiry as to how early it really was revealed the time. _Five o'clock. Dang._

He hated that dream. Reoccurring for months at a time, he thought he'd finally torn free of it only to have frequent reprisals. Typically brought about by, as his therapist liked to remind him, 'heightened emotion, or passionate words.'

Such as the argument they had had the night before. Exhausted, and drained, he went over the memories as the sun slowly came up, dispelling the gloom.

_"Dad, I want to go to the movies. _Princess Erica and the Bandits of Space_ just came out, and I really want to see it."_

_He'd nodded absently, busy correcting the essays he'd put off taking care of until the very last moment, "do you have enough allowance for it?"_

_A pause, then, "You never allow me to do what you want! Mom let me do what I wanted! She would take me to movies and…and play Barbies with me! You never play with me, or spend time with me!"_

_Suddenly wide awake in his confusion, he'd turned toward the girl only to come face to face with her anger, cheeks flushed with emotion and hands clenched in distress, "whoa, whoa, where'd this come from? All I asked was if you had enough allowance to-?"_

_"I hate you!" the words were shouted across the room before she ran up the series of stairs to her room, a formerly unused second attic space similar to his place._

_George Bendelheist-Shmidt, one of the college-age borders, paused on his way into the community kitchen Arnold had inherited upon his grandparents' deaths, blinking._

_Arnold was still staring at the puff of smoke his young daughter had left behind._

"_What was that all about?"_

_"She's a girl," the boarder had shrugged his bony shoulders, sandy brown hair bouncing with the movement, "girls aren't supposed to make sense."_

_"Should I go up…?"_

_"Not until a little later," the youth stated with experience, fetching the half-full carton of milk from the refrigerator, then grabbing a glass, "let her shout out her frustrations first, then cry on your shoulder."_

_George had seven sisters, all younger than his tender age of twenty-two, and Arnold assumed that if anyone knew what to do, it would be George, "okay. Thanks."_

_"She's just missing a mother figure, that's all. And it's hard when you're both her dad and her teacher. You might want to have her moved to a different class," he paused, brows furrowed, "then again, she might take that as abandonment. Scratch that thought."_

_"Thanks," Arnold had repeated, this time a little dryly._

_A mother figure…_

That thought still on his mind, he began to prepare for the day. Pulling a warm sweater over his usual crisp button-up shirt and yanking on a pair of comfortable khakis, he headed for the stairs. The boarders were, as usual, fighting for the bathroom, and he was again grateful that he showered at night. The 'Breakfast of Champions' was quickly served by way of cereal box, before he was able to brush his teeth in the kitchen sink, and then the real work began.

Getting Elena up. Typically, she set her alarm for seven. She preferred to wake at eight. Unfortunately, school started at eight-fifteen, and that didn't include the extra time he needed to get the class ready for the day. So at ten after seven, the rest of _his_ preparations finished, just in case, he tiptoed into her room and began delicately shaking her.

Earning himself a smack in the face for his efforts.

"Ah, DA—dang," he finished lamely, pinching his nose in pain. His daughter continued her adventure in dreamland, long wavy brown hair spread across her pillow and sticking to her pajamas with static electricity. He tried again, "Elena…Elena, it's time to get up."

Soft green eyes, lethargic with sleep and framed within a familiar oblong head, cracked open blankly. She blinked. Then yawned, "what time is it?"

"Seven-forty-five," he lied, glancing at the actual time on the clock. Seven-twelve.

Her eyes followed his own green ones, and she frowned, "yeah right, Dad."

"You've got to get up and get ready, honey. We only have so much time bef--."

"Before class starts, I know," rubbing a tiny fist along her face, she yawned. _Was I ever that small? But then again, I can't believe she's gotten so big. I remember when she was just a tiny pink bundle…_ "I'll be down in a few minutes."

It really was seven-forty-five by the time she finished, wearing her usual lavender baby-tee and primly pressed black, pleated skirt. Heart-shaped earrings framed each cheek, matching the chain around her neck. Her jewelry choice aside, no matter how many times he suggested they go shopping for different clothes or that she try something new, she refused. Simply feminine was simply her style, and had been since her mother's death.

"Slide your rent under my door while I'm gone," he tossed to the boarders as they rushed to get their coats and scarves on. The past few days had been chilly with the onset of winter, but they weren't due snow for a few more weeks, "I'll be home by four if anyone needs me to fix anything. Call my cell if it's an emergency!"

"Bye Mr. Lon, Mrs. Varemell. See you later George! Bye Augusta," the nine-year old said cheerfully, receiving a few muttered goodbyes in return. She scratched her father's old, aged pig fondly before finally turning to leave, "have a good day, Abner."

"C'mon, Elena! We're going to be late!"

"Keep your shorts on, I'm coming!"

The trip was relatively short, and they were to the school by eight, leaving her father fifteen minutes to prepare. She ignored this usual occurrence and took out a small sketchpad, beginning to draw a scene of a princess in the clutches of an evil dragon. The knight that rode up was football-headed and it wasn't until she had finished the picture that she realized what the princess looked like: a pretty, bespectacled brunette with extremely curly hair and a heart-shaped face. Her mom. She tore the page free and scrunched it into a ball, ready to throw the accursed thing away.

"Why'd you do that?"

She glanced up in surprise, meeting the solemn grey eyes of the boy who'd taken a place in front of her. Biting back an irritated retort, she frowned, "it was a dumb picture. That's all."

"I thought it was cool. Especially the dragon—you did him really well. It almost felt like he would come up off the page," the small boy smiled, single unibrow raising in approval amid his browned features. Shaggy dark brown hair hung in front of his face, but could do nothing to dispel the admiration in his clear, grey eyes.

"Thanks. Do you want to see me draw another one?" distracted from her melancholy feelings in favor of showing off, she pulled out a second page. Her father noticed their conversation distractedly, but made no move toward the duo. She began to draw, building upon the simple shape-based structure, just as her mother had taught her. The end result was a sea dragon, covered in scales with webbed feet and fin-like wings.

"Awesome! What's it's name?"

She wrinkled her nose and giggled, "it doesn't have a name. It's a _picture_."

He ignored her skepticism in favor of ready enthusiasm, "'Course it has a name. Everything has a name. We just have to find out what it is."

"Whatever," Elena had rolled her eyes, and the boy huffed in exasperation, before steadfastly moving on.

"No, really. We just have to keep saying names until one sounds right. But first, is it a boy or a girl?"

"It's just a dragon."

"Even dragons are either a boy or a girl. Or else they couldn't have eggs and make more dragons. They're not like frogs—they need both genders to have kids. They can't reproduce asexually," at her blank look, he'd huffed again, "anyways, it's either a boy or a girl. So…which one is it?"

Examining the delicate wing structure and almost translucent wings, she finally spoke, "girl."

"Okay, then," the boy began, grinning even as he retrieved a blank paper, "I'll start. Sandra."

"What are you doing?" she was seriously wierded-out by this boy she'd never seen before. He'd appeared out of nowhere, watching her draw without permission and had suddenly decided that he was going to name her pictures. Weird.

"Throwing out names," he'd scratched the first messily down on the page, "Julia."

Deciding to go along with it for the time being, she finally joined in, "Elouise."

"Elouise?" his nose wrinkled.

"What? It's the name of a character I read in a book."

"Fine. Cristophreena."

"That's a boy's name!"

"No, it's not," he remarked tartly, "it has an 'A' at the end of it. Maggie."

"Delilah."

"Georgie."

"Ann."

"Helga."

"_Helga?_"

"It's my mom's name," a shrug.

"Susan, then."

"Lucinda. Lucy for short."

"Seren," she'd thrown in, trying her hand at odd-sounding names, just as he'd been. The boy paused, then smiled. And it seemed as though the clouds were breaking in the sky after a long spring rain.

"Perfect. Seren. That's a beautiful name," reaching across her, he wrote the name in elegant cursive. A complete contrast when compared to his chicken-scratch printing.

She blushed, having caught the way his eyes had lit up and continued to glow enthusiastically, "thank you."

"Oh!" the boy suddenly became bashful, scratching at his head before finally handing it to her, "I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Jonah. Jonah Billings. I'm new."

"I kinda figured that. I'm Elena Stella Babcock," she'd responded, grasping his palm momentarily. It was warm within hers, "and that seat's open. The girl that used to sit there moved just last week, so you can have it."

"Thanks," he'd smiled. And in that instant she decided to be his friend.

"Here," she added impulsively, signing the page before handing it off, "You can keep it. _Her_. Seren."

His eyes had widened in his round face. _Like a basketball_, she absently thought, _what with that fuzzy caterpillar eyebrow crossing it_, "really? Thank you so much! I'll put it in my room, now that it's painted. My mom says that very picture tells a story. Like the saying, 'A picture's worth a thousand words'. I'll have to write a story for her, and then I'll show it to you."

Wrinkling her nose up in surprise, she shook her heard, "you're kinda weird, you know that?"

He nodded thoughtfully, as though he'd actually heard it quite a bit, "I know. But it definitely makes life a lot more interesting, wouldn't you think?"

"I guess so."

The morning bell punctuated her words, and with one final rush their schoolmates began taking their seats. Immediately her father was all smiles.

"Welcome to class everyone. Before we begin, could you please pass forward the math assignment you were given over the weekend so that it all ends up on Joey's desk. We'll then have announcements, before we go over our 'Five Fun Things'."

The papers were summarily shifted over to the corner desk, where a Brooklyn-born blonde boy piled them together without a care. As soon as they were removed from his desk he'd pulled out a desk of elaborately illustrated cards, their covers littered with information and numbers.

"And Joey," her father paused, "I'll ask you to put away your cards until recess. This is warning number one of two."

"Yes Sir…" the boy had responded sourly. His friend, a small kid with a head full of tie-dyed spikes, stifled a laugh.

'Mr. Arnold,' as the class casually thought of him, smiled and began reading the announcements he'd been given. The loudspeaker system hadn't been working recently (and Elena had had absolutely _no_ idea how that had happened, she'd responded when asked), forcing each of the teachers to recite the upcoming events manually.

"Parent-teacher night is scheduled for next Monday. Instead of having it at the end of the week, we'll be having it at the beginning. But you'll still get a three-day weekend, since the school's going to be closed this Friday," allowing a few minutes for cheers, he continued, "also, ideas for the upcoming Winter Social are being accepted. The Principal wants ideas that are family-friendly," he'd turned toward the Johansson triplets, Elena's sometimes-partners in crime, before eventually laying one lifted brow on her. As though she were any other mischievous student, and not his daughter, "and fairly non-specific, in regards to religion. Something everyone can participate in. Color schemes are also being covered."

Meredith Gamelthorpe-Lloyd turned to her friend, Jalilah Edwards, with an ear-piercing squeal. Elena winced, and even Jonah's smile wavered momentarily. Her father nodded before moving on.

"Lastly, as some of you might have noticed, we have a new student in our class. His name is Jonah Billings," suddenly the focus of attention, the boy ducked momentarily before pulling himself up by his feet and facing everyone with a grin, "would you like to say a few things about yourself, Jonah? Or you can just tell us your favorite sport," her father added, as a casual 'out,' having seen the round red ball peeking out of the boy's bag.

"Well, I love basketball," a few of the other kids exchanged smiles and high-fives, anticipating one more player to join their team, "and I love to write. Short stories and sometimes even poetry. About warriors like the Viking, Beowulf," he added quickly, seeing the aforementioned boys' faces drop. They perked up immediately, "and I especially like Dragons."

Face glowing brightly, Elena avoided her peers' gazes to pull out a newly sharpened pencil.

"Thank you, Jonah. Now, does anyone have a contribution for our Five Fun Things that happened to them over the weekend?'

Brooklyn accent blonde hair deck of cards. You were right if you guessed that young Joey was in actually our good friend from YuGiOh (which I hold no rights for). And speaking of Yugi…

Boy number two ("a small kid with a head full of tie-dyed spikes") also makes a snickering appearance. Whether or not I keep the two mischief-makers depends on if they're helpful to the plot or no. As for now…I'm giving into another one of my other fandoms.


	4. Chapter 4

Sunny Side Up

By Shahrezad1

**Dedicated to my mother, for her endurance and strength. Everything happens for a reason. And every bad thing that occurs can be changed to good, if we just let our Heavenly Father guide us. Thanks for always looking on the bright side of things.**

Summary: It's been years since the gang was together, and time's passed for everyone. As adults, can Arnold and Helga get past their pasts and finally see the bright side again? Rated for future pranking.

Standard disclaimer here. Don't own, just enjoy. End.

Chapter 4

_Same day as Elena's initial outburst…_

The house had been half-way set up within a week's time. A basic semblance of structure and a working computer was all Helga needed to print off a resume and immediately begin her job search. While the place was rent-free, her parent's effort of paying it off still didn't cover utilities, nor food, not to mention other bills and expenses. Such as Jonah's lunch money and school fees.

So off her information had gone, across the information superhighway and into the laps of several affluent businessmen and women. On a whim she'd even applied for a fulltime secretarial position at PS118, but without any expectations as to a response.

Instead, she was busy with something more important.

"Jonah! Are you ready or what?"

"Just a sec', Mom! I can't get my tie on right!"

"Oh for heaven's sake," she rolled her eyes, taking the steps two at a time in her long jean skirt and pointed pink heels, "it's a clip-on, how can he have problems with it?"

Apparently it was fairly easy for him to have problems with it, she realized upon entering his room. _Her_ old room, specially redecorated in Jonah's taste. Including a built-in, closet-hidden ladder reaching straight up into the attic, where a miniscule desk, beanbag chair, lamp and radio had been placed. It had been her welcome-home present to him, and rather than start with decorating his room, he'd already plastered his "hide-out" with pictures and posters. Including a dragon named Seren, he'd said had been a present from a friend.

Tucking a smile away, she solemnly removed the tie from his hand and replaced the metal clip in its proper place within the fabric before tucking it onto his shirt, "ready now?"

"Yeah, I'm ready. Thanks Mom," the boy beamed and she couldn't help ruffling his mop of brown hair.

"C'mon then, bucko. Time's a'waistin'."

Still, he put up a fight, for appearance's sake.

"I don't really see why I have to go to a Parent-Teacher conference, anyway. We've only been here a week," Jonah complained mildly, allowing his mother to tug him this way and that as she attempted to straighten his clothes with only mild success.

"Well, it'll give me the chance to meet your teacher and some of your classmates," catching his grimace, she turned him slowly back to her, kneeling until she was at the same level, "what's with the long face, Kiddo? Is this about those tire treads I saw on your cheeks after school today?"

Weighing the ease he would feel at speaking versus the worry she would feel, he finally spoke, "Mom. What would you do if…if someone that was nice to you, suddenly was mean to you?"

Wincing at a specific set of memories, she tried her best to answer, "well, I would definitely see if there was something that set them off, first. Were they already angry, or did you do something to hurt their feelings?"

"No! We'd even had lunch together a few hours before. She introduced me to her friend…who just happened to be Jemima Johansson. And we kinda had to explain that we already knew one another…" he muttered with a shrug, inducing a grin from his mother.

"Well…was she mad at anyone else?"

"Her dad. He apologized for her, and said she was using me as a scapegoat," the boy grabbed his basketball and began twirling it on one finger. He'd seen Helga do it once and had immediately worked at it until it was second nature.

"Then there you have it. She wasn't really mad at you," she answered, grabbing his jacket and beanie from his home-made hockey stick coat rack, "just give her a chance to apologize for herself. And if she doesn't, and it still bothers you, then tell her. Talk to her."

"Don't bottle it up, yeah, yeah. I get it," the boy rolled his eyes and grabbed a pair of mittens before heading for the door, "can we go now?"

"Whatever you say, Kiddo," they headed for the door, Helga withdrawing her key from her purse. Both were now wrapped in the warmest of clothing, and Jonah was already waiting by the car. She stopped, "what did she say, by chance?"

He let out a breath, "she called me a 'basketball face'."

Hand frozen in the act of unlocking the car, she slowly turned, all expression leached from her face, "basketball face, huh?"

_Here's a toast to irony…_

--------------------------------------------------------------------

It had been a long night for Arnold. First, Elena had decided not to come ("What's the point in going to Parent-Teacher conference when you live with both your Parent and your Teacher?"), then he'd poured coffee down his best suit, forcing him to chose between one he'd worn as a much younger man, and more casual attire. He'd settled on being casual in his usual wear—a dress shirt, sweater, and khakis. Rolling his eyes, he thought about how his entire wardrobe seemed to be made up of the combo these days.

And so it was that Parent-Teacher night began. While most of his students were, in general, good kids, there had been a time or two during the course of the night when he'd come up between a rock and a hard place. Kids claiming that it wasn't their fault they had a bad grade, and parents angry with the results on assignments, he'd had to balance his temper with a steady vocal tone and endless repetitions of _1, 2, 3, 4…_

"Arnold, my man!" suddenly the day became brighter as his old friend came into view, wife and triplets at his side and youngest child, a boy, tucked in his arms.

"Gerald! Phoebe! It's great to see you guys again so soon. And it's great to see the three of you as well," he smiled down at the girls, Jordan, Gillian, and Jemima Johansson. Each with a widely different personality, they were as alike physically as peas in a pod, skin a soft milk chocolate, hair straight and black, and eyes distinctly slanted. Their brother Phillip, curly-haired as his father, stirred briefly, before returning to his nap, "why don't you take a seat." Borrowing two more chairs for the group, he motioned them forward.

"Is Elena here?" Jemima, the tomboy, asked immediately, checking around him as though he was hiding her under the table.

His smile faltered momentarily, "no. Elena decided to stay home tonight."

Recognizing an awkward pause for what it was and immediately coming to his rescue, Phoebe spoke, "well, that's too bad. You'll have to tell her what she missed, Jemima. Maybe we can stop by tonight, even. We can probably visit Jonah, too." All three of the girls cheered immediately, and Arnold's heart skipped a beat. Phoebe gave him a bland smile as he abruptly lost all expression, and Gerald nodded subtly.

"Well," he cleared his throat, trying to get back on track, "all three of you are doing very well on your schoolwork. Especially in Science for you, Jordan, Home Economics, when it comes to Gillian, and Math for Jemima. The only thing that's really a concern is their Citizenship Point Average."

"Girls," Gerald began warningly, voice low and disappointed.

"It was only the boy's bathroom," Jordan began, their spokesperson in glasses and a cute blue cardigan. Reminiscent of their mother, she had unfortunately spent a little too much time in 'Aunt Helga' presence, in regards to creative mischief.

"The _boy's_ bathroom?!"

"And they totally deserved it," Gillian added with a smirk. Dressed primly in a delicate pink, utterly feminine dress, her hair was short and flipped out, making her one of the most popular girls in the fourth grade. Regardless of how Miss Meredith Gamelthorpe-Lloyd's opinions to the contrary.

The last of the trio, bubble-gum blowing Jemima, was Gerald's daughter through and through. Dressed in green, hair in a tale sticking from a baseball cap, she finished the last bit, even as her teacher forced himself not to laugh, "we rerouted the urinals so that-."

"I would prefer to remain ignorant in this issue," her mother wryly interrupted, arms crossed over her chest. All three girls smiled sheepishly, even as they exchanged an 'I'll tell you later' look with their father, over their mother's head.

"In any case, their citizenship isn't too far gone, especially if something is done to make up for the lack. Here are their midterm report cards."

"Thank you Arnold, for your time and effort," the tiny woman gave him a hug around his waist before turning as her family rose, "we've got to be going now. Jordan, Gillian, Jemima, you get to decide which punishments you would like to have: TV, friends, or the computer." A series of groans followed in her wake.

"See you, Arnold," Gerald exchanged their 'secret handshake,' and turned to leave, but was stopped by his best friend.

"Gerald, wait."

"Yeah?"

Hand ruffling his hair awkwardly, he stalled. Searching for the right words, he began stumbling, "Jonah…I mean…Helga? They're…?"

Motioning to his wife that he would catch up, Gerald returned to his previous seat. He'd known that this day would come as soon he'd found out that Helga's boy had been placed in Arnold's class, information courtesy of the triplets. So his best friend's confusion was easy to ascertain, "I know man, I know. It's a bit of a shocker. Actually, Helga's been in contact with us for a while, before she moved back."

"What?" his best friend's response rocked him back in shock, "why haven't you ever said anything?"

"I didn't think it was that big of a deal at the time," the black man huffed out a breath, and his son squirmed in his arms. Gerald immediately calmed him with one large hand upon Phillip's back, and the boy stilled. Enviously, Arnold remembered when Elena had responded the same way to his touch. She barely spoke with him now, "she'd visit off an on—after all, she is Phoebe's best friend. And then a few years ago…she stayed for a few weeks. Would only tell Phoebe what was going on. Swore her to _secrecy_. But I saw the bruises, and that was enough. Triplets were six at the time. Since then they've visited more often, and she moved back when her parents retired," he summarized the last information with a casual shrug, "Phoebe and I fixed up her parents' digs right about a week ago."

"Do you know why she…?"

"Had the bruises? Really came back? Where her husband is?" arching one dry eyebrow, Arnold's best friend looked him in the eye, "Arnold, if there's one thing I've learned with Helga, it's that you don't ask questions. You wait for her to come to you," he thought about it, "or at least, to Phoebe. Not the other way around. All I know is I haven't met her Ex once. Phoebe wasn't even able to make it to the wedding. But from what we've heard, he's bad news. Jonah, however, is a gentleman."

Arnold smiled in memory, remembering from his first day onward the boy's actions. He'd been straightforward and true from the beginning, kind to those around him and determined to give equal attention to everyone. Especially Elena. When compared with his mother's personality, the contrast almost seemed comic, "it seems weird, Helga having a child."

Gerald barked out a laugh, "you're preaching to the choir, there. I've got four kids, in case if you haven't noticed."

"And another on the way?" the blonde asked slyly, eyes half-lidded.

The stack of hair seemed to wobble as he stared, "how did—what? When did you…?!"

"She glows, you dog. And you've been entirely too satisfied with yourself lately," Arnold answered with a laugh.

"She is one hot momma," smile spreading slowly across his face, Gerald's eyes drooped as though remembering something.

"Yeah…don't need that mental image. Thanks. And one's enough for me right now."

Instantly his companion's face became concerned, "Arnold, I know you and Susan wanted a lot of kids, and I--."

"Don't worry about it, Gerald. I have more than enough children right now," one melancholy smile later, he'd returned back to their previous subject, "speaking of, Jonah's really…?"

"Nothing at all like his mother?" Gerald filled in, smiling, "actually, you'd be surprised by how pleasant she can be. When she wants to be, that is."

"I don't think she knows I'm his teacher yet."

"Seriously? What with that distinctive 'football head' of yours and everything?" the taller man's brow rose in surprise, "well, that won't last long."

Arnold winced.

"What, are you expecting her to pick up old habits and start shooting spitballs at you again? In case you didn't notice, she stopped that our Freshman year."

"It's just…"the teacher's voice suddenly dropped as he picked up his pen and clicked it absently, "Jonah…needs someone. And I want to be there for him. If Helga decides that she doesn't want him to be taught by me, then…well. There's not much I can do about it. But…Elena needs someone, too."

"And he's taken it into his head to be that someone. I know, the girls told me what a little sweet talker he was being. Even getting her to draw a picture for him."

The eyebrow went up, "what, really? She never gives away her art. Usually just stuffs it into that portfolio case she's got."

"I know," Gerald threw in, free arm now thrown around the back of his chair, "that's just it. If there's anyone in your class that's really antisocial right now, it's your own daughter. And you're not the first to see the irony in who's pulling her from her shell."

"Maybe he's just used to it. It's become second nature," he noted absently, rubbing the slight peach fuzz along his chin.

"Makes sense. Anyway, I've got to go so…good luck, my man," reaching forward for one more 'secret' handshake, Gerald was soon up and off. Minutes later Arnold's next student came in, card deck in hand.

"Hello, Mr. Wheeler, Mrs. Wheeler. If you'd like to just take a seat…"

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--When Joey Wheeler (Jonouchi) and Serenity Wheeler (Shizuka) (from YuGiOh. Don't own, so don't sue.) were really young, their parents were together. When the two of them were older but still pretty little, their parents got a divorce and Serenity and their mom moved away. Joey was stuck with his dad and was forced to work in order to pay off his gambling debts (and since, traditionally, Japanese High School students are not permitted to work while in school, Joey had to get special permission to work part-time. Hence all his 'A real man does blah blah' speeches in the manga). One of those "random Anime info" moments, brought to you by Sherry1.

AN: Oh, and the Arnold/Helga interaction is to be saved for the next chapter. This one got out of hand as I began writing Gerald and Arnold's conversation. It's really easy to write the two of them together, so it was a lot of fun. See you next chapter.


	5. Chapter 5

Sunny Side Up

By Shahrezad1

**Dedicated to my mother, for her endurance and strength. Everything happens for a reason. And every bad thing that occurs can be changed to good, if we just let our Heavenly Father guide us. Thanks for always looking on the bright side of things.**

Summary: It's been years since the gang was together, and time's passed for everyone. As adults, can Arnold and Helga get past their pasts and finally see the bright side again? Rated for future pranking.

Standard disclaimer here. Don't own, just enjoy. End.

Chapter 5

"There's my teacher! C'mon!"

Laughing quietly, Helga allowed her son to pull her down the crowded hallway, dodging between both children and parents with neither pause nor apology until they finally reached an overly familiar cafeteria. They'd repainted the halls in a light, mellow yellow, brightening the atmosphere and adding a new dimension to the school, even as the usual posters, pictures, and advertisements littered the walls, Helga noted, before taking a place next to her son in line. Giving her a direct view of the man everyone was looking forward to meeting.

Jonah's teacher was a stocky man of average height with a large smile. Regardless of the slight grey streaking his pale hair, his green eyes were bright with youth and fond as they rested on each of his students. And dressed in a blue sweater and khakis, he looked comfortable, friendly, and welcoming. Not to mention fit, and confident in himself.

Helga paused as she realized what she was doing. _Did I just check him out?_

"Did you just check Mr. Arnold out?" Jonah asked aloud, reading her mind and watching her expression.

The blonde immediately gaped, staring down as her son grinned unrepentantly, "I did not--! Wait, what did you just…?"

"You totally just checked him out," Jonah wiggled his single unibrow, before continuing in a sing-song voice, "_you think he's hot. You think he's hot. You think he's hot…!_"

His words ended in a squeal as she attacked his sides, "you are _so_ going to get it!"

"_Ah! Ah-ha ha!_ Let me go, _let me go!_ Uncle!"

"Not until you promise," grin breaking her face in half, she stole her arms around the squirming boy, "to make me my favorite dish! And…"

"No, no, anything but--!"

"And watch a chick flick with me."

"No! Mom!"

Arms fully gripped around him, she wasn't going to let him go that easily, "now which one should we watch? _While You Were Sleeping_? _Funny Girl_? _Sleepless in Seattle_? And what about…"

"Ah, Mrs. Pa—Billings?" The two of them froze, their similarly-shaped eyes landing on Jonah's laughing teacher, "I hate to interrupt, but…to quote many-a secretary, 'he's ready to see you now'."

The boy let out a snicker and they both paused before his mother abruptly dropped him from her arms. He landed on his feet, and she immediately straightened, blushing and brushing down her long black coat. The boy grinned impudently up at her.

"Let's start over. Hi, I'm Mr. Babcock. You must be Jonah's mother," he held out a wide, calloused palm, half-smile spreading across his face and eyes half-lidded.

Cheeks warming with a mix of embarrassment and awareness, she slowly slid her long-fingered hand into his, red nails a stark contrast against his plain ones. Suddenly frozen, she shivered slightly at the jolt that went through her form. And his. The blonde man's eyes widened and the smile fell from his face momentarily, before he cleared his throat and removed himself from her grip, motioning toward the empty places.

"Ah, take a seat."

"Thanks. And it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Babcock. I'm Mrs. Billings, by the way," she added as she took her place and began to remove her scarf.

"_Ms._ Billings," Jonah threw in, smile unrepentant. She noogied him momentarily before returning to the task at hand.

"Well, there's not much to say about Jonah's progress, really," the teacher began, pulling a folder out from the stack and handing a copy of Jonah's midterm to his mother. Helga snagged it without pause, pulling a pair of wire-rimmed reading glasses from her pocket. A flicker of surprise glittered in his eyes before disappearing altogether, "from what I've seen he's—you're—a good student. You do well in all your subjects, and you hand everything in on time. Your best subject," the boy waited with glee, hands twitching in his lap. Helga bestowed a fond smile on the kid, arm resting behind his back, "is English. Particularly when it comes to literature and composition."

Her hand found Jonah's under the table, "the essay you wrote was absolutely brilliant. Evocative, creative, and with emotional impact. It was a real tribute to you, Ms. Pataki, and really brought to mind the--."

"Wait, wait," she interrupted with a sudden frown, looking down at her son, "you wrote it about me?"

Squirming uneasily, the boy shrugged, "well, yeah. We had to write about someone we knew."

"Why couldn't you have written it about Uncle Gerald?" she muttered irritably, suddenly verbally reverting, unchecked, in a burst of surprise, "Crimeny, you could have even picked the triplets. Or the librarian, for heaven's sake!"

The boy's eyes furrowed, and he ducked in sheepish worry, "well, I wanted to write about how cool you are."

Attempting to cut into the forthcoming train wreck, his teacher frantically dove in, "it really was quite complimentary, Ms. P-Billings. He spoke of your college accomplishments, as well as your rise from single mother status to accomplished business woman."

She thawed momentarily, and the boy relaxed in response, watching her with protective, worried eyes, "I just don't feel…comfortable having others know about me. I'm…appreciative," Helga chose her words carefully, realizing that his feelings were more important than hers at that moment, and quickly wound an arm around his hunched form. He was so busy always cheering her up, she sometimes forgot that he was still just a little boy, "that you chose me, Jonah. I really am. It's just a little too…public for me."

"It's only Mr. Arnold," the boy stated incredulously, half a brow raised, "he never reads anyone's stuff aloud without permission. And I want to actually publish _my_ stuff."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Gaping, the blonde woman turned toward her son, long tail swishing over her shoulder and slim ribbon bobbing momentarily.

"Nothing," the boy muttered, then coughed under his breath. It sounded something like _Pink Brook_. She scowled and began counting to three, finger by finger. He froze.

The blonde man threw out a cough of his own, hiding a smile, "I promise you Ms. Pataki, that after this moment I'll forget-."

"What did you just call me?"

"Sorry?" her son's teacher blinked halfway through what he was saying, hands frozen midway in their reassurances.

Helga was immediately frowning, black brow lowered over suspicious blue eyes as she slowly stood, "do I know you from somewhere?"

"Well, I…ugh. Um, I just…" hand ruffling his graying cowlick, the man rose to meet her gaze, wincing. Recognizing that something was wrong, Jonah watched from the side, instinctively edging away as panic began pumping through his veins.

"Were you hired by my ex-husband?! 'Cause, Bucko, I'll have you know that-!"

"Helga, I'm Arnold, for crying out loud! Do you really think I would…would…" the boy's teacher froze, realizing what he'd said. Mouth open mid-sentence, the football-headed man turned to his former tormentor and saw only a single mother, hurt and emotionally bruised. Someone to protect, and to care for. _I want to help her..._ The two of them stared at one another, neither noticing Jonah's presence, nor the other people milling around them oblivious to the reunion.

"Ar-Arnold? Football Head?" eyes wide in shock, but no longer alarm, Helga's arms fell to her sides. Purse falling to the floor, unnoticed, the two adults were immobile. Taking in the changes created by the toll of time.

_He seems…sadder_. The thought entered her mind first, echoed by his own questions. _What would make her so paranoid as to think I was sent after her?_

Arnold allowed himself a second to look at her. Slim and confidant in a long jean skirt and a dark dress coat, she was the woman he'd seen hidden behind every good thing she'd done as a child. Behind every smirk, every spitwad, to the girl underneath. The one behind Deep Voice. Here she was, happy and confidant. But hurt. His heart ached to see her.

"Hello, Helga," he said sheepishly, slowly smiling, "how are you?"

_Arnold's asking me how I am. Am I asleep? Has time reversed?_ _Did I check out Arnold earlier?!_

She had become deathly pale, not hearing his words as she was drawn into her own thoughts, "Helga?"

"Mom?" Jonah became concerned as well, reaching out to tug her sleeve.

"C'mon, Jonah, it's getting late."

"It's only eight."

She tossed a scowl Arnold's way, and suddenly the bully was back. The wall of anger pressed against him and with it a ghost of the past, the memory of a pink bow waving in the wind and a tiny fist shaking in the threat of eminent beating. Disappointed, he watched her turn away with her arm protectively around her son, "time enough for you to finish your homework, then. Thank you Mr. Ba…_Arnold_."

As they rushed away, he heard Jonah's faint response, "but I already finished my homework."

Arnold stared after the duo, heart in his throat as his student's words echoed faintly within his mind. _Ms. Billings. Miss, not Missus. _Not knowing why, the words struck a cord within him and a smile he hadn't allowed on his face for a long time slowly spread across his oblong head, his eyes lowered in memory of her own clear eyes, so like Jonah's. In that moment, he set himself toward the goal he'd begun as a child: Getting Helga out of her shell and past her defense mechanisms. Helping her, for once, to like herself. While perhaps making a friend out of an enemy in the process, and securing Jonah and Elena's future friendship.

And just as he had as a child, he knew that the journey would be half the fun. The difficulty would make him work just that much harder to be near her.

_Fun_, he tasted the word like a foreign spice, _I haven't had fun for quite a while. It was time he started again._ The words appeared, not in his voice, but that of his late wife, Susan. Like a summer's day, he could see her smile brighten on the horizon, banishing the rain as she motioned him forward like a small child on his first day of kindergarten.

"_Where's your sense of adventure, Arnold? Mr. See The Bright Side of Things? I double dog dare you…"_

---------------------------------------------

--Yep. Billings and Babcock. I'd just come back from Montana when I got the inspiration to start this story. So Helga's married name is the city of Billings, Montana. And Arnold's last name is Babcock, after a street. _Because he doesn't have a name in the series._ I've tried and tried to find a last name for him, but it's all come to naught. So I made up one. The end.

AN: Truthfully, this chapter was painful to get out. Sorry about that. Here I was looking forward to it, and then Helga and Arnold suddenly get shy and stubborn on me. How irritating.

And a shout-out to all those who have been reading this fic and faithfully reviewing, favoriting, Author-alerting, or even Author-favoriting. You guys mean the world to me, and are what really gets me to the keyboard most days. This story is dedicated to you.


	6. Chapter 6

Sunny Side Up

By Shahrezad1

**Dedicated to my mother, for her endurance and strength. Everything happens for a reason. And every bad thing that occurs can be changed to good, if we just let our Heavenly Father guide us. Thanks for always looking on the bright side of things.**

Summary: It's been years since the gang was together, and time's passed for everyone. As adults, can Arnold and Helga get past their pasts and finally see the bright side again? Rated for future pranking.

Standard disclaimer here. Don't own, just enjoy. End.

Chapter 6

They ended up watching an episode of _Lois and Clark, Adventures of Superman_ the next day. It was one of Helga's favorite shows as a child, and when the opportunity to possess both seasons one and two had arisen, she'd jumped up and taken it. Hence Jonah's current torture.

His head lolled against their couch cushions as his pop-rock covered ice-cream sat melting in his lap. His mom had settled for her favorite dessert, instead of an actual course. For that he was thankful. After all, her favorite food _was_ a cold, French soup.

After they'd gotten home the day before she'd immediately closeted herself in her room. Knowing her reactions by heart, he understood that she was probably locking herself in her walk-in closet and muttering to herself, as she always did when her thoughts were too impassioned to bite back. He'd understood that time was of the essence, and with the speed and stealth of the "Pataki" he was, he'd rushed to his own closet, and then on to the hidden attic that covered the entire house. Including his mother's room. With vents connecting the two areas, he had complete access to her quarters, and consequently her closet. If he had wanted to see what she was doing, he would have stayed in his own wardrobe and used the peephole there. But it was her words rather than her actions which were important, and so it had been to the vent above he'd gone.

"Oh, Arnold," his mother had whispered softly, sadly, "How long has it been since I last saw your football-shaped head? It seems so long ago that I was so cruel to you, treating you in the foulest manner. How can I ever think of returning to the past we once almost had? After the horrible mistakes I've made? You, with your golden wedding band and…ever-present teal sweater..."

_Mom knows Mr. Arnold!_ Grey eyes wide with surprise, Jonah sudden remembered the large pink scrapbook his mother had always toted. Locked from his father's prying eyes, she'd always explained it away as a photo album dedicated to her best friend, Phoebe, as well as a place of storage for her most sensitive poetry. Once she'd left it open, having fallen asleep before putting it away, and he'd taken advantage of her lapse to give into curiosity. The pictures within had typically included his 'Aunt,' but more frequently involved a short, blonde boy with an oblong head and a baseball cap. They ranged from kindergarten up until high school, where they suddenly dropped off. And intermixed with the photographs, careful acid-free copies of newspaper clippings had been pressed on the pages. An elementary-school production of Romeo and Juliet here, and a spelling-bee result there. Suddenly, the name of the boy came back to him, written directly under each of the news clippings…

_Arnold Babcock_.

Covering a gasp with his hand, he froze above the vent, listening as she continued to go over her own faults, as well as his teacher's youthful virtues. Grimly, he began taking mental notes.

"Oh, Arnold. How you must've changed. I can't assume that you'll be the way you were. Sad. Your eyes are filled with sadness. And me. I'm still the same, gawky curve-less girl I've always been," he frowned at her words, remembering the looks she'd received the past few years from bums and businessmen alike, until they'd seen him at her side. _What's she talking about? Mom's really, really pretty_, "how can I compete with…with anyone, really? Even your students, Arnold."

He sighed quietly, remembering the issues of self-confidence their old therapist had broached with him alone. _"Your mother doesn't like herself. It's ingrained from years of being told she was worthless. And until she learns to like herself, she won't be able to full let herself like anyone else, much less fall in love again. Try to tell her how much you love her, as much as possible. Hug her—she seems to respond well to hugs."_

"But…perhaps," his breath froze as she continued, hesitantly, "you don't expect me to be the same I was. The bully that made your school experience a living terror."

_Bully? Mom was the school bully! _This final shock rocked him back as he was forced to mentally re-evaluate his mother. How could his wonderful, creative Mom have been the school bully?

"We're both adults. I can apologize, dear Arnold. Perhaps we can even be…friends."

Setting aside his mother's youthful past for another day, the boy turned toward more pressing matters. And in that moment Jonah decided that it was time to take his mother's happiness into his own hands. 

He needed to have a word with the triplets.

That had been yesterday. Today he was stuck watching _Lois and Clark_, and his plan was being put on hold. Homework wasn't even a worthy excuse—he'd finished it in class that day.

"I love this episode," his mother whispered to herself, legs curled up under the blanket they shared.

_"Just a metaphor, Lois, okay? Just go with me. All right. Now if I told you, you could only have one ice-cream flavor for the rest of your life…what would it be, rocky road or chocolate?"_

_"Well, I don't know. I guess I'd have to try the rocky road before I decided."_

_"That's the point! Clark's chocolate. I mean, it's _good_. It's good and all, but you've _had_ it." _

She'd gone all-out for this movie night, breaking into their popcorn stash and had even commanded that they both dress in their most comfortable pajamas for the event. Despite the fact that it was only seven-thirty. He didn't have to be in bed until nine.

"_Yes. But you can put _hot fudge_ on it. And whip cream and nuts."_

"_Bananas."_

"_Oh, bananas."_

"_Ooh. Don't take me there. Okay. So now this Scardino guy, he's rocky road. He's different, interesting, _chunky_."_

_Seven-thirty-five_, he corrected himself in his boredom, checking his watch, "why? It doesn't even have any kissing scenes or anything."

_"You know, Sarah, if you go around trying every flavor, you're gonna get awfully fat."_

_"That's when you go for the little taster spoons. A little bit of this, a little bit of that. I'm telling you, Lois. Chocolate will always be there."_

"Crimeny, do I need a reason to like an episode, Kiddo? I just do," messing his hair cheerfully, she reached for the popcorn propped between them.

In that moment the doorbell rang and without pause his mother pulled on her robe and went to get it, leaving the show running.

"_Not necessarily. I think I'd really miss chocolate if I couldn't have it."_

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"Dad, no!" the words had been repeated, time and again, all night long since they'd gotten home from school and he'd first broached the subject to her. Embarrassed with her actions, but prideful enough to not apologize, she'd avoided the issue as well as her new friend at school. Leaving him sitting all alone at recess, no matter how many times her best friend Jemima had urged that they go join him. The poor boy had sat, ignored, spiral notebook in his lap as the children around him joined together in games.

After only a day, Arnold had had enough of it.

"You _will_ apologize, and we _are_ going. Now. So get your shoes on, this instant," Arnold stated firmly, green eyes steely. Since his wife's death he'd rarely, if ever, taken that tone with her, and she recognized it immediately. No wheedling would get her out of the predicament. 

In her mind she knew her father's silent rules. When she hurt her father, it was forgivable. He bounced back easily. But if it involved someone else's feelings, he became a fiery sentinel. There was no going back. But that didn't mean she was going to give up without a fight.

"Fine! But other than that, I don't have to talk to him at all!" with no further ado, she stomped up the stairs only to come back minutes later in a full-black ensemble, hat covering her head, and features disguised by a midnight-colored funeral veil.

"I'm ready."

Shaking his head in a mix of humor and slight impatience, he held the door open for her and they walked the few streets over. He, dressed warmly for the evening chill, and she, dressed solemnly as though at death's door. Even her purse was black, decorated with a simple white Easter lily. The honorary funeral flower.

The short trip took scant minutes, and it wasn't long before they were standing in front of her door. And feeling just as young and unsure as the last time he'd stood in front of it, he pressed the bell, expecting to hear Big Bob Pataki's voice suddenly leap at him from the living room.

Instead the door opened to the comfortable, casual form of his old schoolmate, dressed in a pair of pink, pig-covered pajama bottoms and a white "Breast Cancer Marathon", pink ribbon shirt. Atop of it all rested a nubby terrycloth robe of cheerful yellow, covered in smiling moons and stars.

She stared, frozen in the setting sun.

"Ah, hello Ms. Billings. Elena wanted to say something to Jonah. Is it alright if we come in?" her mother closed on the flies it was catching, and she moved slowly to the side, motioning them in. As he passed he noted that her hair was down in a long wavy stream down her back. He hadn't seem her hair loose since they were children, and even then infrequently. It reminded him of something, but he couldn't remember what. A faint, happy memory of a…Valentine's day?

Elena had led the both of them into the obviously occupied room. The TV was playing a show he somewhat recognized, but hadn't seen for years. And sitting on the coach, wrapped in a patchwork quilt seemingly made up of contrasting pink and blue squares, was Jonah, wearing his own pair of blue basketball-themed pajamas and holding a notepad in his hand.

Recognizing a potentially awkward situation for what it was, Arnold cleared his throat softly. The boy looked up, colored, and immediately wrapped himself in the overlong blanket.

"Hello, Jonah. Elena decided that she had something she had to say to you. Go on, Elena," nudging the resentful girl on, she scowled before turning to face her friend. Her cheeks immediately colored up.

"I ju…wa…yo…ry." The words came out in a jumbled whisper, and her father rolled her eyes. Just as he was about to speak, Helga jumped in for him.

"I'm sorry, Elena, I couldn't quite hear that. I think when I was watching the television I had it up too loud," the one-browed woman smiled ironically, shrug lifting her shoulders, "either that or I'm getting old. Probably the latter," she exchanged a wink with Arnold, and he smilingly rolled his eyes.

"I said," the girl took a deep breath, turning her embarrassed green eyes back to the short youth wrapped in fabric, "that I just wanted to say that I was sorry. For calling you names. I was mad and…I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

Jonah immediately perked up, brown head popping from the nest he'd created for himself, "that's okay, I knew you didn't mean it. I forgive you."

Ducking her head once again in a shy blush, the girl forgot her vow to become mute, "thanks, Jonah."

"Hey!" the boy's eyes lit with inspiration, recognizing a way out of his current torturous predicament, "do you want me to show you my secret hiding spot? It's totally wicked awesome!"

"You've got a hiding spot?" the curiosity was suddenly lit in her eyes, and she absently removed her funeral hat and veil in favor of facing him face to face.

"Yeah!" ignoring his pajama-covered state, he jumped from the mess and toward the hall, nearly crashing into several potted plants as well as the adults in the process, "it used to be my mom's when she was a kid, and now it's mine. Aunt Phoebe and Uncle Gerald even helped put some furniture up there for me."

"Really! That's really cool," their words softened into silence as they headed up to the boy's room, neither noticing the fact that their parents were now alone together.

"So," Helga began, the first to recover.

"So," he repeated, smiling.

Realizing that the television was still on, she snatched up the remote and ended her session of romantic fiction. Then, searching for something, anything, else to occupy herself with, she began to fold the blankets and clean up the mess.

Arnold took the time to look around, recognizing an awkward pause for what it was and taking advantage of the additional moments bestowed on him. 

The walls had been painted a beautiful pastel blue, light and airy. And placed tastefully along each were a series of photographs. Some black and white, and others in color. Of Jonah through his school years, or family pictures beginning with a wedding photograph of Helga and her ex and leading up to the current day duo. He took a moment to examine the man, and found that his strong, square chin, handsome cinnamon skin, and hard grey eyes irritated him. Helga, a young girl beside the stiff figure, practically glowed with joy, her hair elaborately curled and face liberally covered in makeup. 

Arnold preferred some of her later pictures, in which the makeup had been applied far more carefully and with a more natural touch. Or without makeup, like she was now.

He noted that the room was dimly lit with a series of expertly placed lamps, rather than the glaring overhead light. And positioned periodically about the room were cheerful plants of all shapes and sizes. Even a small flowering cactus, sarcastically nicknamed _Olga, _if the name tag was any indication.

Helga was watching him examine her living room, he realized with a jolt. Waiting for some sort of reaction. With a smile, he gave into her expectations, "I like what you've done to the house. It's definitely more…welcoming, than it was when we were younger."

"Thank…you," she responded slowly, before falling silent. Apparently the conversation was being left tidily in his hands. _Great_.

"I, uh, have to admit. We did have another reason for coming over, other than the apology. Although," he paused, and smiled wryly, "that in itself was an adventure."

"You do?" she fixed herself on his previous words, "have another reason for being here, I mean?"

"Er, yeah. You left this behind, yesterday," the purse was deposited on her couch, dark brown except for the pink daisy keychain attached to the metal clasp. Her eyes immediately widened.

"Oh my gosh, I can't believe I forgot that. I mean, I _never_ forget--!" tightening her hands around her mouth, her eyes were filled with shock.

He laughed easily, "well, it happens to the best of us. I remember leaving my cell phone at a Teacher training seminar once. Not a pretty picture. At least I knew who you were and where you lived. So it's no harm done."

"Thank you. Again, _Arnoldo_," she smiled softly, tone a little wry at her own actions, "I appreciate it."

"It was no problem."

The air echoed with silence. Neither knew what to say. Until he saw the slim blonde woman swallow once, then finally speak.

"Arnold. I just wanted to…apologize. For the way I treated you in the past. It seems kinda ironic for her to be apologizing for the exact same thing we had problems with in school," a slightly bitter, self-incriminating smile overtook her face, and while he realized that her apology was a wonderful thing to behold, and a beautiful, productive step forward, he couldn't help but wish that he could remove the sadness from it. Arnold couldn't bear to see anyone in pain, especially when it came to those that clearly needed help, "when he told me that he'd been called 'Basketball Face' I about went into shock."

"Yeah, it was a bit of a surprise for me to," he responded, shaking his head in amusement, "Karma, I guess."

"He doesn't deserve for my Karma to fall on him," the words were a whisper in the wind. Confused, Arnold looked up only to see her eyes drop to the blanket she held in her arms, softly caressing the worn fabric.

Impulsively speaking, he earnestly tried to meet her gaze with his own. Anything to cheer her up, "then I guess it's really good Karma. Because if Elena hadn't had to apologize, you wouldn't have gotten a chance to, either. But it happened, so you did. And it's all okay, anyway. I forgave you a long time ago."

"Really?" the question in her eyes nearly broke her heart, and he was about to respond when music began blaring through the heater vent beside him.

_"Anyone perfect must be lying, anything easy has its cost. Anyone plain can be lovely, anyone loved can be lost. What if I lost my direction? What if I lost sense of time? What if I nursed this infection? Maybe the worst is behind. It feels just like I'm falling for the first time, It feels just like I'm falling for the first time."_

"Jonah!" she'd shouted laughingly, "that better be turned off by the time I get up there! We still haven't finished our movie!"

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--Pop-rock covered ice cream. A tribute to another really great fanfic, referring to Helga and Phoebe's wonderful code words. "Ice Cream and Chocolate" Go check it out. Oh, and try some pop-rock-filled chocolate candy bars, created by Pop Rocks Incorporated. They're absolutely wonderful. "Melts on your tongue, then pops in your mouth!"

--The yellow robe is mine. Yeah, my creativity left me right after I described the pajamas. 'Cause nothing is more awesome than a robe with smiling quarter moons on it.


	7. Chapter 7

Sunny Side Up

By Shahrezad1

Summary: It's been years since the gang was together, and time's passed for everyone. As adults, can Arnold and Helga get past their pasts and finally see the bright side again? Rated for future pranking.

The POV will be switching a few times before everything settles on either Helga and Arnold, or Jonah and Elena. Sometimes it will even concern side characters, like Phoebe and Gerald. Sorry about the confusion, if this causes a problem.

Standard disclaimer here. Don't own, just enjoy. End.

Chapter 7

_Arnold._ His name was on her lips as she woke the next morning, dreams filled full of memories and could-have-beens. Curled tightly within her nest of blankets, Helga allowed herself a moment to reminisce. Him holding his umbrella above her head, stemming the pouring rain from coming further. Every prank she had ever played, quietly forgiven and answered in turn with kindness. Romeo and Juliet, her lips on his. FTi's brave declaration. Him saying goodbye in the rain, the day she'd packed up and moved.

She'd tried to forget him a long time ago. With her graduation and her move to go to college, she'd tried to put the past behind her. To move on, and give a life without Arnold a chance. Only to be swept up in the opposite. The opposite of happiness, the opposite of a kind voice saying her name and shaking her awake in English class. Of the only one, Phoebe aside, to have the faith to reach past her exterior and into the heart of the matter. Her heart. 

The woman, rolling over to stare at her lightly speckled ceiling, rested her arm over her eyes and just thought. _Is God out to get me? Is this some sort of game of cosmic irony, swatting me from behind like a miniscule fly as soon as I think I'm back on my feet? 'Cause it ain't funny, that's for sure._

Her large pink tome glittered in response from her open closet, the only remaining evidence of her past obsession. While she'd long ago dispelled the almost cultish practices of her youth (a healthy decision, she acknowledged with adult firmness), her heart hadn't been able to get rid of the one, last, accursed thing.

Sighing, she got up and dressed herself in a pair of sweats and an old tee, soft with wear. Neither matched, but she didn't care as she followed the sound of cartoons playing to find her son dressed and ready for school, milk dribbling down his chin as he ate his cereal. He glanced up at her momentarily, before returning his eyes to the screen as one of his favorite characters began a duel with another. Good to know that she'd been acknowledged, she thought wryly as she took a place beside him on the couch.

"You know you're not supposed to eat in the living room," she stated emotionlessly as she sat. He grunted. Neither of them were morning people. The TV droned on, allowing her thoughts again to turn to the past, and without pause it skipped to his recent actions.

Last night had been wonderful. She hadn't realized that Jonah's bully and Arnold's daughter were one and the same until the poor girl had apologized, but from that point on her shock had turned to admiration. He'd dealt with the situation with class and maturity, getting his antisocial daughter to speak when she'd rather have hid. Then allowing her the chance to retrieve her pride. To sum it up, he was a wonderful father. 

_And if life had been different, he might have been Jonah's father_, the thought crept into her mind. It could have been two siblings apologizing to one another, rather than two schoolmates. And after the young duo had headed off to listen to music, he could have taken her in his arms and told her exactly how much he loved her.

Instead, they'd talked a bit, a tentative truce founded on a forgiveness she didn't believe in, and he had left.

Back to his perfect wife, and his wonderful daughter. Back to the life she could have had, if only her pride hadn't made her turn away. The way she'd turned her whole life long, because she hadn't deserved him. 

Just as she didn't deserve him now.

Bitter taste left in her mouth she rose toward the door, snatching her coat up in her hand as she went, then turned, "c'mon, Jonah. Lets get you to school."

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The weather had become nasty by the time Helga had returned, still dressed in her oldest and most comfortable clothing as she turned from her melancholy morning toward her chores. The laundry was done with little effort, the dishes needed only to be slipped into the washer. The mail hadn't arrived yet, so she finally turned toward the computer. Only to be disappointed yet again.

Helga's job responses had been nil. Having checked her email since the first day after she'd sent in resumes, all she'd received for her efforts were a handful of half-hearted, _'I'm Sorry, But We've Already Filled the Position' _notices and silent condemnation. 

_It's insult added to injury_, she thought self-pityingly as she began banging her head repeatedly on her large cherry wood desk, all thought draining from her head. After a time, her mind began adding a new addition to the mix. The air was punctuated by a second, high-pitched tone, as though a tune was playing to the rhythm she'd created and, curious, she paused. Expecting to hear either the silence of a woman with a headache merely imagining things, or even Jonah's alarm clock going off at the wrong time, she was instead surprised with the chime of the house phone. Blinking rapidly, she rose and hastened to the kitchen. Where only extreme self-control kept her from ripping the appliance from its socket.

"Billings residence, how may I help you?" the words were automatic and professional. As a working single mother, she was her own secretary, saleswoman, and chauffeur. Pulling the self-assured businesswoman persona over her own failing self-confidence was as easy of a mask to pull on as her oldbully identity had been when she'd been young. It also gave her the chance to hide her disappointed, hurt feelings with a cool veneer of confidence.

_"Is this Mrs. Helga Billings?"_

"Yes, this is her."

_"Mrs. Billings, we as a school board were curious as to whether you were still interested in a position at PS118?"_

Stifling the cheer that rose within her, she forced herself to respond calmly. Even as she was spinning widely about the kitchen, phone cord tangling obliviously around her in complete contrast with her actions only minutes before, "yes, I was. Is there a position opening at that location?"

_"One of our esteemed employees just put in her request for retirement, and while searching for a temporarily replacement we came across your information. Your application says that you are willing to take on any type of secretarial position, part or full-time? For an extended length of time, if possible?"_

"I'm open to almost anything dealing with paperwork and information cataloging. I have practice in both accounting and office-related secretarial work, in addition to extensive childcare experience." _If you count being a mother as childcare experience_, she added silently to herself.

_"Would you be interested in becoming the personal assistant to the school's child psychologist, Dr. Harmony? As a school employee, you would be placed in a position where you would be responsible for highly sensitive records, as well as making sure that all patients of Dr. Harmony received their proper dosages while at school. Some find this to be difficult, especially in the way of doctor-patient privacy. Do you think that you could cope with remaining in a highly emotional environment without either searching for information, or betraying any conversations you might accidentally overhear?"_

Grimacing at her own slew of secrets and problems, she nodded her head in response, even though the woman on the other line couldn't see it, "I would have no problem with any of those responsibilities."

"_Wonderful. If you're still interested in this position, the doctor is willing to meet with you today, after school at four, for an interview."_

"I am definitely interested," the blonde woman responded immediately, snatching a googly-eyed pen from the counter and quickly scratching the information down on the palm of her hand, tone still smooth and calm, "and four would be wonderful. Please tell him or her that I look forward to meeting with them."

_"Thank you. I'll be sure to pass the message on. Have a wonderful afternoon, Mrs. Billings."_

"You, too. Thanks for all of your help," the blonde woman responded automatically, mind already far away. The dial tone sang, and with it her heart.

_She had a job!_ Or at least an interview. Dancing happily, she abruptly froze.

"Crimeny! What am I going to wear!"

---------------------------------------------------------------

At three-fifteen, Helga G. Pataki Billings had parked her car outside of Public School 118, dressed in a pastel blue pantsuit and earrings, long hair clipped professionally back. At exactly three-thirty the school bell rang, and she quickly explained to her son the circumstances behind why he had to go home with the triplets. He'd been surprised, but happy, and had willingly turned in the direction of the bus stop with a smile. And at fifteen minutes until four, she was early for her appointment and waiting calmly outside the school psychologist's door.

Attempting a calm, approachable demeanor, she'd changed from sweats to her current attire. The suit she wore was classically cut, emphasizing the length of her body rather than the hips childbirth had bestowed on her. Her makeup was carefully made up of natural tones and a neutral lipstick color, neither too pink, nor too red. Business-like, professional. 

And hopefully elegant enough that they would pay no attention to her unibrow, the one feature she hadn't the heart to change. Not when it was the only feature she and her son shared. 

Topping the ensemble was her one nod to individuality, a set of navy-blue spiked heels—the perfect shoes to spice up any outfit without turning classy into trashy.

Arnold, an unnoticed form frozen in the doorway with his mouth half-open and paperwork in hand, was forced to agree. 

_Holy hand grenades, Batman!_ The thought zinged through his mind before any intelligent thought could pass by it, officially blocking mental traffic for the next five minutes. Within his mind the image of Helga, casual and motherly in a robe and pajamas, was instantly replaced with the epitome of feminine elegance sitting before him.

Previously, the man had determined that he needed to make peace with his former bully, and perhaps even to become friends. For Jonah's sake, as well as Elena's. And perhaps even in the memory of the children they'd once been, letting bygones be bygones. However, for the first time since he'd seen her, a spike of true _interest_ shot through him. An interest he hadn't felt since he was married. The kind of interest a man feels for a woman, not the way a teacher should feel for the mother of his student. 

Ashamed and sternly reminding himself that it was _Helga_ he was thinking about here, he attempted to get a grip on his rampant hormones. Hormones he thought he'd long-conquered with age and maturity.

She sat obliviously, long leg crossed over the other and bouncing with tension as she waited for the door to open and her interview to begin. A blush stained the man's boyish feature, and he cleared his throat before moving carefully back a step. _Better back than forward_, was his immediate thought.

Her eyes widened, and on instinct she rose, immediately hiding her feelings of trepidation with those of irritation, "what are _you_ doing here, Football Head?"

Frozen in the act of speaking, he huffed out a slight laugh, "well, Helga, I _do_ work here. Where's Jonah?"

"I asked him to go home with the Johansson girls. I have, um," she bit her lower lip in embarrassment, blush heightened by the elegant makeup she was wearing. His eyes were caught on that lip momentarily, until he'd shook himself from its spell, "some paperwork I need to do. I have to speak to…to the school shrink. Er, Psychologist, I mean."

"Really? About what? Is it about…ah. Never mind. Sorry, I didn't mean to pry," he attempted to backtrack, but her ire had already been lit, as though their truce the night before had never existed. And unfortunately for Arnold, he found to his surprise that an angry Helga was rather appealing. The short man swallowed hard.

Not knowing his thoughts, she took a step forward, black unibrow folding over expertly emphasized blue eyes, "yes you, do. And what do you mean by that? What were you going to say? _Arnoldo?_"

Matching her step with his own, only backwards, he frowned in slight irritation. Regardless of the distracting attraction he'd begun to feel, she had no right to take her anxiety out on him, and he immediately found himself responding, "I wasn't going to say anything. I just thought that maybe being the new kid, and having divorced parents might…"

"Might what, Bucko?" she asked sarcastically, painted nails resting pertly on her slim hips. Immediately his mind was sent down another path.

Helga as a child had reminded him of a gosling: awkward, clumsy, and a little on the unattractive side. As an adult, while she definitely wasn't Miss America, she'd still shifted in the direction of another kind of fowl (rather than foul, he thought ironically). Rather, a swan. In the world of birds, it wasn't the most fantastically proportioned, like a peahen, or even as timid and gentle as a dove. No, she reminded him of a swan. Unfortunately, he remembered from past field trips to a numerous array of zoos, swans were one of the most temperamental birds out there.

"Might need a little help transitioning, that's all," he responded weakly, as she took another two steps forward until she stood just below his nose. He swallowed harshly, and in the silenct office it sounded like a thunderclap. Standing scant inches from his form, he could feel the heat of her body next to his, and even feel their breath mingling, "I'm not saying there's anything wrong with Jonah, it's just…I just…I mean, every little kid needs someone to talk to."

Realizing that he was only digging himself deeper, both verbally as well as emotionally, he backed against the doorway. Helga's eyes disappeared further and further beneath her brow with each of his words and, frantically, he searched for a way out, knowing that without a miracle the conversation was liable to have a drastic end. Either with him lying knocked-out in the corner, or attempting something crazy. _Like taking her in his arms and_—. He spoke faster, shutting down the thought before it could be born, "Especially after something saddening has occurred. L—like, ah, like—."

"Like Elena did, herself, after Susan passed away," like a pool of cold water opening up under them unexpectedly, they both jumped away on instinct, blushing. He more than she, his breath raspy and chest heaving as though he'd run a long race. Only to meet the amused gaze of the school therapist. She held out a long, graceful hand, lightly dusted with liver spots, her youthful smile betraying the white streaking her dark hair, "you must be Mrs. Billings. I am Dr. Harmony and—."

Grin splitting from ear to ear, the younger woman respectfully took the elder's hand, "Dr. Bliss."

"Ah hah!" the woman grinned like someone half her age and immediately closed her arms around Helga in a sudden hug. The single mother froze automatically, before mentally shrugging and going along with the comforting gesture, answering her own response with an internal sarcastic remark. _Helga, you're thirty freaking years old! Get over your physical interaction issue already. Doi!_

"I'd wondered how long it would take you to realize it was me, Helga," stepping back to look the woman over, she smiled proudly at what she saw, "you look wonderful. Now, why don't you step into my office and we'll talk about this job opening you're interested in. Oh," pausing suddenly, the doctor motioned toward the empty secretary's desk and smiled. Knowing dark eyes were fond on Arnold's shocked green ones, the teacher's weak form having collapsed in the chair Helga had recently vacated, "and could you please set those files on the desk, Arnold?"

"Um, no problem," the teacher answered, winded, even as a blush decided to run rampant across his oblong features.

Dr. Harmony merely tossed him a wink. And within his mind, the voice of his wife laughingly threw out a remark.

_"See, Arnold? Wasn't that fun?"_

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--There's not much that needs to be said for this chapter. Only that it was written twice, the first time without much inspiration nor intuitiveness when it came to the characters' personalities. The second time around I literally chopped it in half, and began again. _Now_ I can honestly say I'm satisfied with it. Especially when it comes to Arnold's realization that Helga is a woman, and not just a mom or an old acquaintance. That was fun to write. Jonah's mischief, coming up next time on 'Sunny Side Up.'

Lastly, I would like to apologize. I didn't intend for my next update to take as long as it did, but life got in the way and caused chaos and mayhem. I truly am sorry.

And lastly, I posted a pic of the triplets on Deviantart if anyone is interested. http/shahrezad1. 


	8. Chapter 8

Sunny Side Up

Sunny Side Up

By Shahrezad1

Summary: It's been years since the gang was together, and time's passed for everyone. As adults, can Arnold and Helga get past their pasts and finally see the bright side again? Rated for future pranking.

Standard disclaimer applies. Don't own, just enjoy. End.

Chapter 8

For the past few days Jonah had been forced to make the choice between staying after school until his mother finished her work, and going with the Johanssons' on the bus. He'd picked the latter, testing his theory in preparation for the future.

For he had a plan. Not a master plan, but definitely the foundation for one. And he was wise enough to know he couldn't do it by himself; neither in the planning stages nor the carrying out of it all. So he'd decided to turn to the professionals for aid. The originators behind every major prank that had occurred at PS118 since their parents' generation. Namely, the triplets.

It was normal for him to join the three in their schemes. And by now both of parental sets were accustomed to the group getting together to do homework, in combination with his mother's new schedule. So there would be no suspicion or even awareness of the plan until they'd struck.

Unfortunately, there existed a hitch. After much deliberation and planning, he'd decided on broaching the situation to the Three that afternoon, but he hadn't counted on Elena spending the night at the Johansson house. And therein lay the problem.

He wasn't sure if Elena would go along with the plan, once she realized who it involved. Truthfully, he thought she'd hate it, and possibly end up hating him in the end. And it wasn't just his own feelings he cared about, either. He didn't want her to be harmed in the process of his strategizing. Unfortunately, she may _chose_ to be anyway.

Because he was going to try to get their parents together.

She sat in the seat before him, playing a clapping game with Jordan and Gillian. While Jordan loved the rhythmic patterns and beats, and Gillian enjoyed the playful stories (remembering every one she'd ever heard), Jemima willingly passed any turn she could have had in favor of talking to him about stuff they enjoyed.

Unfortunately, his mind was only on half of the conversation, the rest of his caught on Elena's form. The girl played along with the two competing siblings as Jordan created stumblingly rapid patterns, and Gillian widely hilarious rhymes. It was one of the few time's he'd seen the football-headed girl seem happy.

"You've got something planned, don't you?" Jemima brought his thoughts to a stuttering halt, shocking him from the ever-pressing stupor of depression. He turned toward her, brow raised, only to meet a flat expression and folded arms.

"How did you…?"

She huffed out a sigh, turning back to face the seat in front of them with no small part irritation, "you keep looking at Elena like she might explode. And you haven't written any stories for a while now—just a bunch of doodles."

The boy gaped, shoulders dropping in complete astonishment at her observations. She tore the baseball cap from her head and began scrunching it crossly within her tiny brown paws, the skin color she'd inherited from her father, darkened beyond from days of playing in the sun.

"You noticed…all that?"

He was bestowed with a 'duh' look, "we've known each other since we were six, Jonah. I think I'd know if something was wrong. I'm not dumb."

"I didn't mean that, Jemima. Don't twist my words."

"Whatever," she shifted enough to cross her arms once again, cap gripped tightly in one hand and long black ponytail curling at its end, "you're planning something that has to do with Elena. And I want to know what it is."

Wordlessly, he opened his backpack and withdrew the sheaf of papers, handing them to her. While he had intended to tell both her and her sisters later, he wasn't one to look a gift horse of an opportunity in the mouth.

"Here are my notes."

The pages were a mix of organization and chaotic inspiration. List upon list had been created involving pros and cons, the paper littered with familiar names and numerous brainstorming ideas. And along the tables' heads existed a title that made her freeze. _Helga G. Pataki Billings + Arnold Phillip Babcock_. He'd created subcategories titled _Evidence of_ _Attraction for One Another_, _Reasons it Won't Work, Reasons it Will Work,_ and _Ideas for Matchmaking_, with the words "_Winter Social_" circled in red. Further pages revealed plans for the chosen scheme, including people needed, supplies, and time frame. Despite her alarm, an inkling of impression was born.

Silence encircled the seat before she finally turned her brown eyes to meet his, incredulity twisting her features into disbelief, "you're going to set up Uncle Arnold with your mom?! _Are you crazy!_"

He was immediately shushing her, finger held to the nine-year-old's lips, creating a blush in response, "not so loud! I don't want Elena to hear!"

Leaning back and frowning with eyes half-lidded, she eerily resembled her father as she spoke, "yeah, I bet."

"Besides, what's wrong with getting our parents together?" his expression was mournful at her rejection of his plan, but there remained enough determination in him to defend his position.

Her face was carefully blank as she pondered his words, "I just want to make sure that it's not just you putting your feelings on your parents, like a vicarious romance."

"What are you talking about?"

"You," she said pointedly, then turned her eyes toward the bespectacled girl in front, "and Elena."

"Me and _Elena?_" he was bowled over with shock, collapsing into the painfully springy seat of the bus with arms flung to his sides. An alternate future passed through his mind of him and Elena, holding hands and sharing bubble gum. Watching the night's sky and at a dance. While pleasant, it remained a faded, patchwork image, and he knew that just as she was a nice girl and he was a decent guy, there just wasn't any spark. Lastly, there was the chance that she would become his sister, if his plan worked. Causing the image to take on a warped quality, like being in a hall of mirrors, "I don't even think of her that way. We're just friends."

"Yeah, right," the scowl was back, as well as the crossed arms. And in the darkened bus a light bulb was lit. _Jemima was jealous of Elena._

"Jemima," the boy gripped both of her shoulders in his hands, turning the girl to face him on the seat as he began talking earnestly, "I don't like-like Elena. I just like her. She's a friend, and I see her more as a sister than someone to…like-like. I'm trying to put Mom and Mr. Arnold together because they knew each other when they were kids. And I think Mom still likes him."

"What?" hiding any previous feelings of discontent and jealousy, the girl quickly turned in favor of curiosity as she was given more information. Information she didn't have to risk her heart on, "wait, they knew each other when they were our age?"

"Yeah," he sat back in his place, blush lightly dusting his cheeks as he attempted to regain his composure, "and I found out that your parents were their best friends. Jemima, you _have_ to help me," his gaze had become earnest, and she found it difficult to avoid them as she fiddled with her cap, "I can't do this without you guys. Especially you. I know what I have to do, but not…"

"How to do it. I get it, I get it," she nodded firmly, and replaced the hat on its rightful resting place as she joined the 'game', "okay, I'm in."

"In on what?" the question popped the bubble consisting of the two of them as Gillian smiled wickedly, arms propped on the top of the plush, green seat. Jordan and Elena were watching in curiosity beside her.

"He asked me if I wanted to _be a part_ of the _hockey game_ the boys are having," she lied blithely, even as her sisters began smiling widely with anticipation. Sitting next to them, Elena remained confused and bewildered, realizing that something was up but not recognizing what exactly, "the losers have to _shave their heads_."

The football-headed child gasped. She was the only one that did. The other two were finding it difficult to hide their glee, an emotion she took no notice of, "shave their heads?! Aren't you afraid that you'll have to…to…?"

"Naw," the girl popped a piece of gum in her mouth, slouching into a comfortable position. One not involved in crossing one's arms, "no one beats the Johanssons."

Confusion immediately ran rampant across the girl's features., "you're _all_ going to play?!"

"No, we're not," Jordan answered, smiling with her slanted eyes, "never mind. It's doesn't matter."

They reached the Johansson place soon after. Known for loud music, but pleasant kids, the neighbors waved to each one of them as they walked on up to the stoop and into the house, each dumping their load unceremoniously in the living room before running off to their various destinations. An adventure that never ceased to amaze Jonah.

Growing up in a family of hand-me-downs and tight times, Gerald Johansson had made certain that each of his children were given an opportunity to develop their own personalities without a large amount of interference. This included making it so that each child had their own room; a singularly individual affair that had been hilarious in the making but helpful in the long run.

Jemima, although a sport-fanatic through and through, attested to a butter yellow room. And while posters of WNBA stars adorned her walls, her bed and decorations were made up of white and yellow daisies. As well as a fireman's pole that led to the lower level. Namely, the kitchen.

Gillians' room was pink, unsurprisingly, but had a carefully placed sound system set up so that when she wanted to she could blare out hip hop with the best of them. Much to her mother's dismay and her father's amusement.

Jordan's room, also known as the "War Room" had been painted a dark blue with glow-in-the-dark stars pasted to resemble constellations. While her sisters had twin beds, she was the only one with a bunk, using the double places for friends that would frequently sleep over. And in the center of the room was a reversible foosball table, the underside resembling a desk with a wooden surface and hidden drawers.

It was to this table the group turned to, Jemima stalling Elena in the room next. She'd given him a look before they'd left. A look which had clearly said, 'you owe me. And I'm not going to let your forget it.'

Dread pushed aside, he'd removed the plans from his bag and immediately started explaining as soon as the coast was clear. Their reactions weren't what he'd hoped for.

"Okay, so you want us to help you hook up _your_ mom with _her_ dad? _You've got to be kidding me!_ What possessed you to even think of it?!" Gillian crossed her arms over her pink shirt, effectively cutting off the head of the hip hop star portrayed on it. Jordan remained silent in her navy cardigan, even as she began shuffling the papers aside, layer by layer.

"Look, I just want them to be happy," his arms were spread wide in his sincerity, answering the question as best he could, "_my_ mom's alone, and _her_ dad's alone."

"That doesn't a-relationship-make," she retorted sharply, "besides, what makes you think they even _like_ one another?"

"Well," he began to explain, remembering Jemima's reaction to his words, "they knew each other when they were kids. And she really, really likes him. I've overheard her talking about him all the time to herself!"

"Your mom talks to herself?" the words were flat, and the duo looked up at him with deliberately bland expressions.

He huffed out a scowl, looking for a moment so much like his mother that the girls momentarily thought of taking a step backwards, before the urge was stifled, "That's not the point," _nor was her obsessive writing and scrapbooking_, a fact he paid particular attention toward ignoring, "What really matters is that she _likes_ him. This is the first guy she's really felt for in a while," pacing, his nut brown hair was swept back, revealing the small white scar barely hidden by his bangs, "I mean, she's tried dating, but…it never turns out right. She's blunt and _herself_, and they just can't handle it. And it's like she won't allow herself to fall in love again, or even _give them a chance_. This guy is too wishy-washy, that one isn't a gentleman, he ordered her dinner for her without asking, and that other guy reminds her of…of my father. And then she just cries. But Mr. Arnold, he…"

"Is her victim," Jordan summarized shortly, surprising the arguing children. Her own observations were made up of watching the new coworkers, and after a little more than two weeks, she couldn't decide if she was amused with their antics, or saddened. Like a flowering hedge of steel roses, every time he would come close to the passionate secretary she'd throw up the barbed wire. But despite how frequently he was cut, he'd always come back for more. Laughing a little at his own mistakes, before figuring out a way to wiggle on through while leaving a little of himself behind; a strand of sunshine hair, a rip of cotton-soft cloth, a drop of blood to rust the barriers. Wearing down her thorns. She might treat him horribly, but for once in the long months since his loss he'd finally regained the determination Jordan had admired in him all her life. With the intent of getting to know one of the most prickly women in existence, "but he doesn't see it as a bad thing."

Beaming, the boy jumped on her words, "which is _exactly_ what I'm talking about! She treats him worse than any of the other guys, and he just keeps smiling. He goes out of his way to do something _nice_ to her! And with every insult, he just tells her something that makes her blush. And she might not see it, but I see it. She's falling for him—as an adult, not just as a kid. Mom really likes him, and Mr. Arnold is starting to really like her back."

Lips pursed, Gillian deliberately changed the subject to something just as important, "does Elena know about what you're going to do?"

The fire was snuffled out with a single, simple question, "no. I thought she'd…"

"She'd react badly? Well, you're right. Because even if they do like-like one another, you've got to remember that it's _real_ people you're playing with here, not characters in one of your stories. And Elena's one of those people. She's our _best_ friend, and I won't let her be hurt," eyes as steely as her father's tower of hair, she was a monument of stubborn strength. Although seen as the most feminine of the trio, her fierce notoriety far surpassed even that of his mother's own protective tendencies. Instead of facing the schemer, he'd run into the giant.

And the inner romantic in Jordan, "we've never committed a prank of this magnitude before. We'll need reinforcements. Five people aren't enough."

Gillian gaped, wind knocked from her sails, "you're not _seriously_ thinking about helping out in this farce, are you?"

"Yes, I am," the oldest girl answered simply, turning the tables with a delicate turn of her finger as she exerted the power of seniority.

"May I ask _why?!_"

"You may," tracing one of the more detailed depictions upon the page she held, she said, "I think they have the potential for a relationship. They are compatible—he is open, she is closed. He has dedicated himself to others, and she to him, if Jonah's words are any indication of her feelings. She hurts others because she hurts, herself. He helps others' hurts because he wants his hurts to be helped."

"And Elena?" the words were gritted out, hands on hips and out-flipped hair bouncing with rage.

Unfazed, the girl pressed her trump, "she needs it. She won't heal unless she deals with her mother's loss. We're hurting her more by sheltering her than if we forced her to face life."

_We're hurting her more by sheltering her…_

"Well, that tears it," collapsing into a ready beanbag chair, "both of you Yahoos are going for it, so it looks like I have to join the stupid _Fellowship_."

The grin Jonah couldn't hide froze in its victory lap, as the adrenaline drained and he remembered something that had niggled in his mind and lit a question, "wait, Jordan. You said five. Who's the fifth person going to be?"

"Elena, of course," the girl answered without glancing up, "I meant what I said. We're doing more harm than good trying to protect her, and she needs to _participate_ in the act of helping her father love again. So that it's _her_ choice. Besides," and a glint of wry amusement shone in her brown eyes, matched only by the tiniest of smiles, "do you really think that you can hide something like this from her?"

"Something like what?" the question was asked with a mix of suspicion and curiosity, her wariness influenced by the knowledge that the four of them had been scheming since the previous bus ride. And despite herself, the urge to be included rose within her. _Maybe this one will wake him up…_

Unnoticed, Jemima tossed an apologetic smile over the shorter girl's head. A smile Jonah caught and answered in turn.

"Elena," the boy straightened his shoulders and turned to face the music, "I need to talk to you privately, if that's okay," the sisters nodded and quietly disappeared, the jersey-dressed youngest shooting him a look of support. A grateful nod was her only response, his mind focused on his unpleasantly new task.

The two children took what had become their usual spots: he, a creaky desk chair with a uniquely projectile spring to it, and she the loose beanbag chair Gillian had exited only minutes before. The room was frozen with awkward silence as he made numerous attempts to speak, only to realize that oxygen was necessary for communication. And consciousness.

Fed up with his stalling, and more than a little worried that he would pass out with each wheezing spasm, the girl shifted. Then cleaned her glasses, and shifted once again. Just as she was about to suggest that they move on to something else, saving his words for another day, he finally stuttered out a sentence. Unintentionally cutting her off, in more than one way.

"Elena, when did your mom die?"

His question was a curveball when she'd been expecting a soft toss, throwing her off for one painful moment. Then the anger rose, just as he had been expecting, "three months ago. Why?"

Forging on bravely, he went for the nonchalant approach. Namely, stalling with a push against the wall that sent his chair spinning several times, before eventually slowing to a crawl, "just wondering. You know, it's been four years since Mom divorced my father. She made sure I had boat-loads of therapy, worried that I wouldn't be able to deal with it. And other stuff."

Crossing her arms, she responded with a querulous calm, wondering where the conversation was heading, "I'm…_sorry?_"

"Did your dad ever take you to see a therapist? Not that I'm saying anything, I'm just trying to make sure that I'm not the only one who has. Of course."

"Only a few times," she answered sharply, before shooting him a question of her own, "look, where are you going with this, exactly? Just spit it out—you're not very good at subtlety."

_Ouch._

"Okay, bluntly then," he forced a smile on his round, brown face, grey eyes serious, "I want to get our parents together. And I would like, at least, a promise from you of 'Non-Intervention.' Having your help would be even better."

Her expression quickly passed by shock and well into disbelieving, then on to anger, "stay out of my life, Jonah Billings! You have no right to--! To--!"

"To try and help your dad be happy again?" he threw in sarcastically, the Pataki in him rising to the occasion with fervor. _This is the third time I've had to deal with people telling me what _not _to do, and I'm getting sick and tired of it!_

"To _interfere!_" she corrected severely, then moved to rise. Without thinking, he sat on her, shocking the girl for a moment before she again attempted to free herself. Hitting and shoving with no progress, "let me go!"

"No," he said sternly, "not until you grow up! This isn't about you or me, or anyone else. This is about _them_. They're unhappy, and I want to help them."

Bitterly hurt, she furiously turned toward his own weak spot, aiming to wound him the way he had her in a blind spot of passionate fury, "you're just saying that because you want _your_ mom to marry _my _dad! _You're just trying to get a new dad so that you won't feel abandoned anymore!!_"

The room's silence hung between them like the veil of death as tears swelled within his eyes, and the world became grey. The moment she'd spoken awful remorse pierced her heart, and hindsight cried out, _'No, I didn't mean that! I was just angry! I'm so sorry…'_ But the words never came. Pride won out and, ashamed, she ducked her head.

"Your dad would be an awesome dad," the boy whispered wistfully, and eyes averted, she could hear fabric shift as he carefully wiped the evidence from his eyes before continuing, "but what I want doesn't matter. Don't you want to see them happy?"

"What are you talking about?" she demanded, subdued but not defeated as she masked her guilt with irritation, "you keep saying that. It's really annoying."

The boy caught her eyes with his grey gaze, a speculative look slowly overtaking them as another piece to the puzzle locked into place. _Maybe she's too wrapped up in her own grief to notice…_

"Haven't you ever just stopped and watched your dad?"

Suspiciously, "what do you mean?"

"Does your dad act differently than he did before your mom got sick and died?"

Mouth open to let out a retort, she stopped. And thought. An array of memories swept through her mind as a gradual change became obvious. Like the elegant lines smudged out and replaced with a rougher hand in one of her drawings, he'd slowly changed. Become less bright. Smiled a lot less. Instead of spending time helping the boarders out, he was usually in his room listening to music or sleeping. He'd slept a lot since her mom had gotten sick.

_It was like he was sick, too,_ the thought rose and latched itself onto her. And like a drowning man, she couldn't dislodge it easily, until she had no heart to remove it from her mind. The memories came unbidden as life's rewind button began to press down, and she began to notice things. He would get tired easily, and he hadn't wanted to do his favorite things in a long time. He'd just…lost interest. In everything.

In her.

And she just wanted him to pay attention to her. To care. He wasn't the only one to lose someone they loved. So she'd gotten mad, and played pranks. It was the only time he would wake up and actually _see_ her!

_He wouldn't wake up!_

"Can't you see how sad he is?" the youth's words unknowingly blew her to the boiling point, and she again took it out on her friend.

"He's not the only one who's sad! But he won't even _talk_ to me! He just ignores me, like I died, too!" adrenaline pumping through her, she managed enough strength to shove the poor boy off.

He fell to the floor with a surprised thump, before reacting. His hands found her ankle as she attempted to stand, only to once again sprawl across the stuffed bag, "I know. And you're probably feeling horrible and think it's all your fault. Like, like…" he grasped frantically for the feelings of his childhood, remembering every hit and every tear. Forcing himself to continue, "like if you had only been able to do something, maybe she would have lived. Maybe, she wouldn't have been hurt. And you feel helpless, because you couldn't _do anything_. And now you're just…all alone," his words fell to a whisper as tears began to well in her large brown eyes.

"How…how'd you know…?"

He gently let her leg go, rising into a crouch, "because the thing is, your dad feels alone, too. Have you tried talking about how you feel with him? Have you asked how he feels?"

"…he told me to go away," the words were forced out, tight and expressionless. Jonah softened and nodded.

"Have you tried to talk to him since then?"

No response, only the slight shaking of her shoulders.

"Elena, you need to talk to your dad. You need him, and he needs you," swallowing, he laid a hand on her shoulder and waited until she met his eyes, "you lost your mom. Someone you always thought would be there, to guide, to help, and be your friend. But he…he lost his wife. The woman he loved with all his heart. He thought he would spend his entire life with her, and then she was gone halfway through. You need to help him. And he isn't going to start seeing that you're there unless you make sure to let him know. And I don't mean through yelling, or setting up mean pranks," the last was spoken firmly, and she giggled weakly in response, watery smile held in place by a shoe-string and a prayer.

"Well," she began quietly, voice rough with tears, "you might be right. But that probably means that he misses Mom. And…he loved Mom, so what if she wouldn't want," the child paused, then forged on in determination, green eyes firm behind round glasses, "wouldn't want him to remarry? I mean, isn't that kinda mean to her?"

Silent for a moment, he carefully thought out his response, knowing he was on unsteady ground, "what was your Mom like, Elena?"

A smile blossomed, before suspicion tucked it aside. Her brow was immediately arched, but before she'd even said anything, he knew he'd chosen the right question. _Bingo_, "I don't know why you're asking, but…okay. My mom…_Susan_…she liked to pull pranks on Dad. And she could imitate famous people. If anyone was hurt, she'd help them immediately. Even if it was just a bruise or something," her expression lightened further as she laughed in memory, forgetting momentarily that he was there, "and she and Great-Grandma liked one-another. They'd rope the boarders as though they were cattle, or they'd Can-Can together while making dinner," the happy thought was interrupted with a grimace, "which was usually _nasty_."

"But your Dad probably ate it anyway," Jonah laughed, rocking back on his heels with the force of it.

"Well, yeah, on the days they cooked. He usually had to run off the bathroom right after, though," she confided with a wink, "although, typically the only one allowed to cook was Dad, to be honest. Mom could only bake cakes—which sunk in the middle—or make her funky ramen."

"Sounds…_interesting_. What'd she put in it?"

"Lots of stuff," she shrugged, "leftovers, mostly. Eggs, frozen spinach, tater tots, baked fish. Once she even threw in what she _thought_ was a sausage link, but it really turned out to be a fried banana that had _gone bad_ in the fridge!"

"_GROSS_!" he shouted, then began laughing, "ugh, can you image what the must have tasted like?!"

"She said," she snorted out a giggle, "that it reminded her of," tears streaming down her faces, and sides shaking with mirth, she shoved out the word, only to send her companion into peals of laughter, "pickled _crab_! Her _favorite_ food!"

Tears of mirth replaced tears of remorse as the two were caught up in the moment. Just as they thought they'd gained the upper hand on their sense of humor, the thought of the banana, especially mixed with the other items, sent them off again. And Jonah was hard-pressed to halt the mirth with further conversation. _This is right, this is healthy…she needs to laugh. She needs to have someone there for her._

The thought sparked off an idea, giving him the inspiration he needed to continue.

"So your mom," hands spread wide, he earnestly turned the subject back to its more important purpose, "from what I can tell, it sounds like she liked to make people smile and laugh. She liked people to be happy."

"Yeah," she smiled, eyes half-lidded, reminding the boy of her father, "and Dad would always do things to make her smile. Surprise things, like cleaning the boarding house, or baking her favorite pie—Rhubarb, even though he _hated_ it. And he'd hug her from behind when she was on the phone, and make funny faces so she'd laugh while she was talking to people. Then…"

Voice wistful, her words turned soft, "…then they would dance to old jazz."

Pain lanced through him at her words, his PTSD attack minor but strong enough to send a similar scene through his mind. One in which his father and mother were slow dancing in the dimmed living room light. Only to have the peace destroyed a day later with a drunken bout that left Helga in the hospital with two broken arms and a jagged scar spanning the right half of her skull.

Pushing the anxiety and fear down with slow, deep breaths, he swallowed and finally asked the question that would either be his miracle or his downfall, "Elena, would your Mom want your Dad to be happy, above all else?"

Green eyes glittered as the smile fell away and she simply remembered. Every smile, every laugh.

"_Being in love_," the words came back to her from a conversation long-forgotten, she with the question then and her mother with all the answers, "_is not just like-liking someone, or enjoying their company. Love is all about giving everything to make that one person happy. Even giving your life for them_," a smile had widened her mother's heart-shaped head, long brown curls bouncing merrily to some hidden tune, "_when you're willing to do anything legally possible to make someone else happy, _then_ you're in love_."

"Yes. She would want him to be happy. But what about your mom? Do you really think she's right for him, or even that he's right for her?" the question was devoid of emotion, defensiveness held back momentarily. It was the act of someone who had decided to let some part of their past go, and Jonah relaxed minutely as he thought of what to say.

"My mom needs someone who will love her instead of hating her."

"_What?_"

Swallowing slowly, he explained matter-of-factly his fears and memories, words becoming firm and eyes dry as he explained what had become a fact of life for him, "when I was six we stayed with the Johansson's," eyes turning back, he remembered the exact day they'd stood on that unfamiliar porch. Dread and anxiety had filled him as the minutes had crawled by, the door softening but not hiding the shrieks inside. Until it had opened to reveal a small girl, front teeth lost in a baseball game, "it was because my mom had been in the hospital. You see, my dad had hit my mom. A lot. And she'd broken both arms, so the cops took him into custody, and I wasn't old enough to help her move around with stuff. So we stayed at the hospital for a while. And then we stayed at Aunt Phoebe's, after Mom's arms were mostly better."

He finally met her eyes as he said the last, "she thinks everyone hates her. So she hates herself. And she knew your dad when they were kids—he was the only one that was nice to her, and she really likes him for it. So I thought that if they could re-get to know each other…"

"Then maybe they'd be happy again," she finished, chin propped in the palm of her hand.

"Right."

The two sat in silence before she decisively nodded, breaking the quiet with a decision, "well, it's a psycho plan, and I think it's going to totally get screwed up, but I'll help. I'll do anything if it means waking up my dad."

"Excellent."

"Perfect!"

"_Wicked awesome!_"

The triplets fell over one another as they burst upon the scene, each wearing identical smiles of satisfaction as they toppled over one another.

"Now," Jemima clapped her hands together in anticipation from the bottom of the pile, "to recruit more people. I think if we can get our class to help, it just might work."

AN: This took me the freaking longest time in the world to write. And it's actually the reason behind why it took my so long to update the latest chapters—Because I was distracted with this monstrosity. In any case, I hope it turned out well. If not…sighs I'm willing to just let it go. I did my best to explain a lot of backstory without making it boring, and character development without making it rushed. If I failed…oh well.

Triplet development went off without a hitch, fulfilling a reviewer request. Soon we'll get to meet the rest of the juvenile cast, including the reintroduction of Meredith.

Elena's opinions toward psychotherapy are based on my old roommate's. Jonah's are mine—especially regarding abuse and trauma (yes, he has Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, although in a mild form). The Ramen of Doom is definitely mine, and about the only thing I can cook. Other than ugly cakes. But I don't put bananas in either one of them, even if they taste like crab meat and look like sausage.


	9. Chapter 9

Sunny Side Up

Sunny Side Up

By Shahrezad1

Summary: It's been years since the gang was together, and time's passed for everyone. As adults, can Arnold and Helga get past their pasts and finally see the bright side again? Rated for future pranking.

Standard disclaimer applies. Don't own, just enjoy. End.

Chapter 9

_"Hey, Arnold! I want you to meet someone."_

_He was back in college. Eyes focused on the blue tiles before him, he walked with the familiar weight of textbooks on his back. Gerald was no longer by his side—he'd gone on to a different school in order to specialize in public speaking, becoming a sports newscaster. For a time Arnold had been alone._

_Until he'd met _her.

_The hall took on a warped look, the crowd blurring into flashes of color and laughter as he absently realized that he was in a dream. It continued on, following the path of memory. And a date passed before his eyes. It was _the_ day. The one that had changed his life forever._

_"Hey, Arnold! I want you to meet someone," the words echoed once again as he sped up to turn the corner, expecting to see _her_ smiling face. Only to plow into someone else entirely, their books scattering to the floor in a shower of paper and hardboard._

_"I'm so sorry! Are you okay?" the words were on his lips before he'd even thought them out, his automatic concern for others prevalent even in his dreams._

_"I'm okay. It was just my daily perception check—no problem," the words were calm, forthright. Even a little amused, and, smiling, he reached down to help the girl up. Only to nearly drop her again, "what? Is there something on my face?"_

_Green eyes wide with surprise, he could only stutter out a no, before clearing his throat and saying, "hi, Helga. Long time no see, huh?"_

_The blonde girl blinked round blue eyes, surprise blanking any other expression from her face. A long braid ran down her back as she tilted her head, individual brows furrowed, "sorry, have we met before?"_

_His mouth dropped as the dream took a distinctively weird turn, "uh, we went to school together. Preschool, elementary, middle school, _and_ high school. Remember?"_

_A rosy pink dusted her cheeks attractively as she eventually answered, "sorry, but I don't. I think I would have remembered someone with a head like yours," the woman's eyes widened dramatically, and, hand covering her mouth, she became instantly apologetic, "I'm _so_ sorry! Sometimes I just don't _think_ when I speak, and then I say whatever pops into my head. And then I end up hurting peoples' feelings, and…"_

_"It's okay," his dream-self smiled and took her hand in his, "I'm used to it. In any case, I'm Arnold."_

_"And you already know my name," shy joy infused her features as she made no move to remove her hand from his._

_"Hey, Arnold! I want you to meet someone," the words belonged to his wife, and there she stood beside them as though she had been there all along. College-age and long-haired, she smiled at their clasped hands before speaking the words that would follow him into the waking world._

_"Never mind, it looks like you already know each other. That's_ wonderful_."_

……………………………………………………

It was hard to focus, Arnold mused, when a person haunted you both day and night. It had been a few weeks since Helga Pataki Billings had begun her job as personal secretary to Dr. Harmony and she had already taken to the tasks with fervor, integrating herself into the school with an ease born of hard work and supreme effort.

Old records had been unearthed, appointments confirmed, and paperwork sorted. Additionally, she had taken it upon herself to redecorate the miniscule office-slash-waiting room, revamping the area based on color-therapy research results. So that rather than being an intimidating, somewhat humiliating place to visit, it had become a welcome area students were unfortunately prone to congregating in.

It had become a place of rest, something Arnold would have never previously associated with Helga's personality. And he could freely admit that while her childhood self had been reclusive and angry, her adult self was anything but.

Except in regards to him.

He'd watched in amusement and awe as her influence had spread through the school of their youth, Helga cajoling, complimenting, and joking her way into the hearts of all but the crustiest staff members. Decades younger than most of them, she'd already built up relationships that were positive and welcoming. She was their proverbial sister, daughter, and friend. And Arnold could hardly hold back his joy as she created, piece by piece, lasting relations. Ties it had taken him _years_ to build.

But despite it all, she still remained cool toward him, ignoring him on every turn. In the lunchroom, after school, and when she would pick Jonah up. Every time he greeted her, she turned a deaf ear. Every compliment was ignored. And offers that their children participate in a play date were coolly turned down. It was as though their truce from the night both she and Elena had apologized had dissolved.

Which only sparked his curiosity more. Just as her influence was everywhere he turned, she'd become a fixture in his dreams. And while his mind was more than willing enough to remind him of his embarrassing realization that they weren't children anymore, most of them were introspective and thought-provoking, reminding him of dreams he'd had of her as a child.

Turning up in familiar situations and foreign ones, she either appear as a laughing girl, a young adult, or the woman she was now. Sometimes she would know him, sometimes she wouldn't. But one thing remained the same: it was as though her harsh childhood and violent married state had never occurred. As though the girl he'd always known was hidden within her was coming out and expressing itself to him.

_Come, come and find me. You know I'm here. You've known it since preschool…_

And behind it all was his awareness of the attraction growing within him, much to his own shocked incredulity (who would have expected it, particularly knowing their past. Him? And _Helga? _And _yet_…). Regardless, it was an attraction she apparently didn't reciprocate, if her actions were any indication.

Hidden from his students by several stacks of paper, he sighed. Attempting to return to reality, and ultimately failing. She didn't like him that way, nor ever had. And he had more pressing responsibilities to worry about. Like being a father, a teacher, and a landlord. He had better things to do than pine after his childhood bully. Especially when he wasn't certain if Elena would accept any woman taking the place of her mother.

He wasn't even certain if _he_ could deal with another woman potentially taking the place of his wife. Even a woman like Helga.

_Three months is a short amount of time to grieve for one's wife before moving on_, the blonde man thought with shame, hand buried deep in his messy hair. But before she had passed away there had come a year's worth of treatments and chemo, and they'd both known from the beginning that she wouldn't make it. Her constitution had always been weak, and when the end had finally come they'd already passed through each stage of the grief process together: denial, bargaining, depression, anger, and finally acceptance. He for the loss of the woman he loved more than his own life; the beloved mother of his child. And she for the realization that she wouldn't get to grow old with him, and that she would never see Elena go to prom, graduate, or get married. But in those final hours they'd both been willing to let go. Their grieving was done, and all that was left was a wish for rest and the knowledge that they would always love one another. Unparted by death, forever companions.

_Elena, however…_

Sighing, Arnold scanned the classroom for mischief and only found his students hard at work. Suspiciously hard at work. Giving himself an allotment of three minutes, tops, he left the room in order to pick up some papers he would be needing later. The minute the door had closed five pairs of eyes exchanged series of long and short looks. As soon as Mr. Arnold had left, they immediately set to work. By Jordan's calculations, they only had about three minutes.

"So what's this you've been talking about the prank of the year?" the first to speak was none other than Jared Bergman. Fighting stereotypes since kindergarten, he was their resident intellectual at almost six feet and still growing. Regardless of the knowledge that he was really a softie at heart, he was an intimidating figure, especially when he focused himself entirely on what you were saying, Jonah noted uncertainly. It had been no surprise when he had been unanimously chosen as group representative for those classmates invited into the venture.

"We're going to set up Mr. Arnold and Ms. Billings," Jonah answered shortly, "it'll take speed, intelligence, and creativity. Are you guys in?"

Meredith Gamelthorpe-Lloyd was the first to respond, resident groupie Jalilah Edwards perched disapprovingly at her side, "you've got to be kidding me! That's absolutely crazy. And it'll never work—they kinda hate one another, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Actually, that's incorrect," Jordan countered calmly, and their small group swung in her unexpected direction. The prankster mastermind of the fourth grade wasn't known for backing unattainable schemes, so some merit must have been found within the insane scheme.

"I'm ever-so confused," Dennis, a shy redhead with an obsession for marbles, said, "what do you mean?"

"She means that Ms. Billings is acting like she hates him because she really likes him," Elena clarified distractedly, busy with her current picture of a football-shaped time-warp submarine; like the kind found in _Princess Erica and the Bandits of Space_, "and my dad likes her back. I can tell."

Meredith sniffed disdainfully, at once hiding her interest in the picture (_Princess Erica and the Bandits of Space_ having become her favorite movie as of last Saturday), while expressing her dissatisfaction at the same time, "you might _think_ that Mr. Arnold likes her, but how do you _know_ that she likes him back? She could really just hate him for real. And unlike _some people_, I don't like seeing Mr. Arnold get hurt."

She glanced at the oblong-headed girl with meaning, earning herself a hurt look.

A large hand fell upon her shoulder and the black-haired girl whirled around in surprise, meeting Jared's disappointed eyes with her own shocked ones. He was silent a moment, before finally saying, "that was uncalled for, Meredith. I'm disappointed that you'd say something like that."

She swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth then shrugged slightly, arms crossing as she frowned, "um…sorry, Elena. That was rude, even for me."

"It's okay," the girl muttered tonelessly, hand clenched around the pencil she was holding.

"Guys, we don't have time for this. Are you all in or are you out?" Jonah jumped back in, hand lightly patting his soon-to-be-sister's to show he wasn't making light of her situation. It might have been his imagination, but it seemed as though footsteps were resounding with each tick of the clock hand.

"Well, _I'm_ willing to help," the tall boy stated, hand still resting on Meredith's shoulder, unnoticed.

"Me, as well," Dennis threw in, before rushing back to his seat across the room. Time was running out.

The popular girl's nose had returned to the air, a look Gillian mocked with undisguised glee, "I won't make any decisions until I'm completely sure that she likes him."

"Ms. Billings is Jonah's mom, so he'd know if she liked him or not," Jemima trumped her with a grin, ignoring Meredith's slack-jawed expression, "I mean, Aunt Helga asked Jonah to keep quiet about it and everything so he wouldn't get made fun of, but you'd think it was fairly obvious. Jonah _Billings_. Get it?"

Masking her surprise with the ease of one who lied on a fairly frequent basis, she finally nodded. But not without one last eye roll, "fine, whatever. I'll join you nerds' fiasco."

Beside her, Jalilah hesitated, then nodded as well before dashing back to her place.

"It's not a fiasco, it's an adventure," was Jemima's retort, "I just wish Joey and Yugi were here—we could use their help. Has anyone seen them lately?"

"They said they had to save their Grandpa's 'stole' or something like that," was the red-haired boy's answer.

"_Boys_."

At exactly three minutes after he'd left the room, the door swung open on innocent tranquility, each of Arnold's students hard at work. Frowning slightly at the surprising focus possessed by the fourth graders in regards to their assignments (or rather, in the case of Meredith, her gum), he cast them a suspicious look before finally turning away. Missing the paper his daughter held up, bearing the ominous title of _'Recess. Back wall.'_

………………………………………

_It was harder than she'd thought it would be._ The thought drifted through her mind, nearly unnoticed, as she began straightening her various projects and started closing down the office for their daily break. She'd been working long enough that it was starting to become automatic, her autopilot switching on as her mind shifted back to its melancholy thoughts.

It was hard seeing so many hurt and disturbed children walk through the door. While some of them were there for simple issues, such emotional exhaustion, stress, or class trouble, there were others that hit closer to home than she would ever admit. Stories of abuse and abandonment, of low self-esteem, suicidal tendencies, and violence. It was as though herself was being paraded before her eyes; walking mirrors of pain and anguish.

_"Do you think that you could cope with remaining in a highly emotional environment without either searching for information, or betraying any conversations you might accidentally overhear?"_

The surface of her desk spanned between her and the children like a sea of glass, expansive and endless as it cleanly placed a wall between them. Of nonintervention from her, as per her signed agreement, and sorrow for them. Allowed only simple conversation, she'd made it her goal to memorize names and interests. A treat here, or a book there, she would do her best to dry their tears with simple kindness. It was the least she could do. Even if sometimes it felt like she was handing them a band-aid when what they really needed was heart surgery.

"_Some find this to be difficult, especially in the way of doctor-patient privacy."_

Sighing, she turned her computer off, then waited for Dr. Bliss-Harmony.

She didn't know how the woman did it. Burdened with the knowledge of sorrows she couldn't change, Helga had asked her repeatedly what kept her going. _Hope._ Hope had been her answer. The hope that one day her words might have helped. And like Helga herself, Dr. Harmony knew that sometimes just having a friend, having someone to talk to, helped.

Just as having a friend to talk to each lunch helped Helga herself.

"All right, all right, I'm ready," the older woman laughed as she finally joined Helga, purse under her arm and keys in hand. After being the recipient of prank involving the triplets and a ball of string, Dr. Harmony had been careful to always lock the office after her. Whether it be for only five minutes, or an hour lunch.

They made their way to Helga's car with little interruption, the two of them toting lunches under their arms. Although, Helga had cheated a bit on hers. Running short on time, she'd tossed one of her son's Lunchables and a can of Yahoo soda into a sack instead of the usual combo of leftovers and sandwiches. Her companion's meal would be perfect, as per usual, Mr. Harmony being a professional chef.

Five minutes driving time was filled with idle chatter as they made their way to Tina park, finally sitting down to their meals under the shade of an old oak tree.

Their meals were revealed, and before the younger woman could mask her expression the doctor laughed and split her chicken salad sandwich in half, before turning to a bowl of Caesar salad, "all you had to do was ask, Helga."

"Yeah, yeah, I would've asked…eventually," she gave the woman with a grin, before unceremoniously digging in. Eyes lidded, she hummed in satisfaction, "Dr. Bliss, this is _fantastic_."

"What can I say?" the woman beamed, "he cooks with love."

The chicken turned to stone within her stomach, and, setting aside the suddenly tasteless sandwich, Helga turned to her water bottle without any response.

"So," her companion began, cheerfully filling the void, "what should we talk about today?"

Spread out across her jacket like the child she'd once been, Helga tapped her fingers thoughtfully before finally saying, "I think we should discuss why the sky is blue. I once heard that it was mostly because of the color spectrum, R.O.Y.G.B.I.V. and all that. But the other day someone was talking about the water's effect on the sky, which I think is bunk. Maybe it's the other way ar--."

"I think we should talk about Arnold."

"Oh, no. Not _this_ again…"

The therapist ignored Helga's utter lack of enthusiasm in favor of pulling out a lined notebook, "firstly…is there any particular reason you've been avoiding, insulting, and in general acting childish regarding Arnold since you first started working together?"

Blue eyes scowled up at Dr. Harmony, receiving only a bland smile in return, "I'm not _childish_. Crimeny! You're not even my shrink anymore, and you're still trying to get into my head."

Donna Bliss-Harmony winced slightly with guilt, and set the papers aside, "you're right Helga, I apologize. It's just…I see the two of you together and it's like..."

"We're in fourth grade again?" she barked out a laugh, arms resting behind her head and paying no mind to the grass stains that would likely cover her pants by the end of the day, "yeah…only this time with baggage and kids."

Nodding, "yes. And I might not be your therapist anymore, but…I _am_ your friend. And seeing the two of you act the way you've been, as adults especially, worries me," remaining silent, the younger woman rested an arm over her eyes, hiding any expression from Harmony, "I've been watching Arnold since he started working at PS118 and I haven't seen him this…energized in a long time. And you, you've…"

"Been pushing him away? I just…" the arm was removed, and with it a temporary lowering of the barriers, "…I feel guilty."

The older woman was baffled, blinking rapidly at the girl she'd known for so long, "What about? You haven't done anything to warrant guilt. Not anymore, at least. And you already told me about the apology you made."

"It's just…" hands tearing into her loose hair, Helga let out a growl, "I shouldn't be still feeling the way I do. I should have moved on by now. The other day I…"

Several moments of silence passed as she fell back against the jacket she laid on, suddenly drained of energy as she confessed, "I…caught myself writing poetry."

"Helga, writing to express your feelings is not an unhealthy th-."

"But he's not free! Arnold's still married, and even if he wasn't I _still_ wouldn't be good enough for the stupid…kind…wonderful…football head," she trailed off lamely, before moving on, "And yet, no matter how hard I try, all I can think about is the glorious shine of silver mixed with his golden tresses! To even _stand_ beside him is pure torture, yet all I can do is remember when it felt like to place my youthful lips upo--."

"Helga, Arnold _isn't_ married anymore."

The single sentence brought her entire tirade to a halt, mouth frozen in shock.

"Could you run that by me again there, Dr. Bliss? I don't think I heard you right," completely turned around, her face was pointedly empty.

Slowly licking her lips, the doctor met her former patient's eyes, and in that instant she felt old. It snuck up on her every now and again, reminding her of just how much she had seen and heard. How hard she tried to help each of her patients, yet how little her words affected them. It made her tired; made her wish she could just retire to some small island with nothing but her husband and a good book.

And then one of her patients would go and do something to make her realize how much she loved her life. That maybe, in some way, she had helped or could help further. Looking Helga in the eye, she came to a decision.

"Three months ago Arnold's wife, Susan, passed away from cancer. That's why he still wears the wedding band. He's completely unattached, and hasn't dated anyone since," her dark eyebrow rose as she was sidetracked momentarily, "I thought I'd told you? The day you first…no, of course you didn't notice. You never notice…"

"_Why_ wouldn't I have noticed?" the young mother murmured to herself, not knowing whether to be insulted or not.

"Helga," she said, ignoring the blonde's words and once again receiving her full attention, "Arnold has been depressed since his wife's death. While depression, especially the onslaught of depression following the death of a loved one, is a normal, healthy emotion to feel, he's taken it beyond the point of healthiness. Happiness is as much a part of him as his oblong head, Helga, and this is _tearing him apart_," she emphasized, hands shaking with frustration, "you're the first person he's taken an interest in, excluding his daughter, since Susan's death. And I'm not saying you should jump him, or anything like that…"

"_Bliss!_" the younger woman gaped, grin spreading across her face despite herself.

"But to think that you don't _deserve_ him is pure hogwash. What he needs is a friend. Especially at work, where most of the staff is from a different generation. Talk to him first, and then maybe, after a while, something will develop. Give yourselves a chance, and don't cut things off early for fear that you'll be hurt. Has Arnold ever hurt you before?"

"Well…no."

"Then stop hurting _back_, Helga. There's _nothing_ to fight here, and you're just two old schoolmates who happen to work together. Then, when things have settled down a bit, you can maybe try something," the brunette backtracked momentarily, "Just nothing violent. Or illegal. Or involving kidnapping and Las Vegas."

Suddenly grinning, Helga returned to the impish child she'd once been, wiggling her monobrow with glee, "C'mon, Doc. What do you take me for?"

She wisely said nothing, turning to her sandwich with complete determination. Several moments of silence passed before Helga finally spoke again, smirk finding its place once again on her face.

"So…it sounds like you've got some repressed feelings there, Dr. Harmony. Just ready and waiting to come out and _jump down peoples' throats_. You wanna talk about them with me?"

"You try holding your tongue for twenty-one years, and then see how you end up acting."

……………………………………………..

"Okay, thanks for coming you guys, especially on such short notice. This is the first _official_ meeting of th--."

"_Babysitter's_ _Club_," a boy Jonah only vaguely recognized interrupted sarcastically, beefy arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back against the building in complete boredom.

"—those wishing to participate in matchmaking Mr. Babcock, a fourth-grade teacher, and Ms. Billings, the school psychologist's secretary," the boy with the one eyebrow continued, frowning, as the group began digging into their meal. Then ignored his irritation in favor of moving on to their first plan of action, "our group's gotten bigger in a short time, so we'd like to welcome the newcomers. And now, on with the show."

He took in a deep breath, then continued, shuffling papers, "We've got several suggestions for what pranks to do first, but our ideas are still a little loose. This paper will be going around, so if you want you can write down schemes that might be interesting. Meanwhile, we've got the Winter Social to plan. Gillian?"

"Thank you, Jonah," she answered with a smile, picking up where he'd left off with the ease of one accustomed to being the center of attention, "everything we do or will be doing shall culminate in the Winter Social. It's romantic, artistic, and leaves us, as kids, with the most opportunities for intervention. This unfortunately only gives us only a short window of time to plan and get everything set up, so we need to move fast if we want things to work out."

She paused for a breath, then continued, smile shifting to something much more determined, "information received this morning, via Jordan," they exchanged a nod of respect before moving on, "reveals that responsibilities for the social are to be split into groups of anywhere between two and four, involving both faculty and staff. The only people exempt of involvement are the higher ups, like the Principal and the school Shrink. Our goal is that Aunt Helga and Uncle Arnold work together, _no matter what_," she met each of their eyes as she said this, to which she received several nods and, in Dennis' case, a grin, "the thing we have to decide is which assignment to give them, based on the likelihood of us meddling without getting caught. They are as follows: _Decorations, Chaperoning, Cleanup, Music, Food and Advertising._ Any suggestions?"

The group remained silent as they each pondered the seriousness of their upcoming task over their various lunches. While some of them, such as Jared and Meredith, were familiar with the situation and had already begun their preparations, others were utterly unfamiliar to even the intent of the plan: getting the two adults to fall for one another.

Quite a few of the children were there for curiosity's sake, information leaked to specific individuals by way of Jordan. Who, through leading, vague words, had been informed of a scheme they wouldn't want to miss out on, while the true extent of the plan had only just been revealed to them. It was them Jonah worried about, and in the silence he took a moment to examine each one individually.

The first of the recruits were Deliah and Jonathan, the second-grade kids of a famous insect researcher and a college ASL professor. Out of the whole school, they were known the most for their spy-like reflexes and tendency to remain unnoticed until the last second, when it was too late and the information had already been retrieved. Both had asthma, but could reign it in with simple gas masks they'd invented themselves, eliminating any liability it caused.

Another second-grader, Cherelle, was the daughter of a French Ambassador and a stay-at-home dad known only as 'The Peapod Guy.' Knowing both French and English, she was the master of codes and innocent smiles. She could pull off any stunt with no one the wiser, and had access to information and equipment open to only those with foreign connections.

Beside her stood the mastermind of the third grade, a boy known only as Cole Slaw. He'd only come along for the ride, following his best friend with his solar-powered laptop in tow. Regardless, the basketball-headed kid felt a wave of relief wash over him. Tall and skinny, wavy-haired, and paying tribute to a nose too big for his face, he was by far the nerdiest kid in PS118, but Jonah knew for a fact that he could hack through a firewall in under a minute. It was his ingenuity that would likely end up making everything fall into place.

The scarecrow tossed a wink Gillian's way, earning himself only a scowl and brush-off.

Jonah turned to the last newcomer with a face devoid of expression. It had been this boy that had made the previous outburst, and despite himself the smaller kid could already feel a slight sense of dislike settle into place. It had taken him a few minutes, but he'd finally identified the burly youth. Max was a transfer student, and the current bane of Jordan's existence (he being the only one of their peers for her to even mention offhandedly, and with a disapproving tone that had surprised Jonah the first time he'd heard it). Sarcastic and sly, he was the first to speak pessimism and the last to apologize.

Fortunately or unfortunately, he also was the only one that knew how to drive, having been taught by his grandfather, a war veteran with a fake leg. Likewise, he was known for taking on daring, sometimes dangerous stunts. Making him one of the bravest, or most foolhardy, kids in PS118.

"If dey were in chargh of adwerdising, dey wud spend a long dime alone dogever," Dennis finally offered, the first to speak with a mouth full of peanut butter and jelly.

"All right. That's one Pro for advertising," the Billings boy marked the suggestion down. Immediately after a gruff voice grunted out a retort.

"And two Cons for that idea," Max lounged against the school's brick wall, hands and mouth now occupied with a bag of _Giant George's Mega Spicy Nacho Cheeto Chips_, "either they'll always be alone together and we won't be able to really do anything without being spotted, or Babcock will assign it to the class as a group project. Either way, we don't get to slide any more pranks in. And _that_ would be a waste of my time."

Jordan frowned, but nodded regardless, "unfortunately, I have to concur. And another Con might be if the school makes the decision to hire out for the project, having a professional work on producing all advertisements."

The basketball-headed youth sighed and crossed the idea out before moving on, "okay, next idea."

"What about having them plan the food?" Elena offered half-heartedly, with a shrug.

Max was the first to speak what they'd all been thinking, harsh as it was, "denied. For the same reasons."

She scowled and folded her arms across her chest, narrowly avoiding hitting her can of orange Yahoo soda, "well, I don't hear you coming up with any ideas, Mr. King of the World!"

"That's Mr. King of the _Universe_ to you."

"Oh, grow up, you two," Meredith finally threw out, eyes rolled and nose in the air, "why don't we just put them in the decorating group? It'll take a lot of people, so we can conveniently 'volunteer', they'll spend time together working on getting the supplies, and we can control it the best of all the assignments. Plus," she added triumphantly, "if Mr. Arnold asks for a theme and decorating ideas, we can decide what the social is going to be like. _Everything_ will be in our hands."

A moment of silence passed between the children, and in that silence a bond of mischief was formed. Each student, even Max, shared a grin even as their unspoken spokesman finally found the words that summarized their thoughts.

"That's a brilliant idea, Meredith. I'm impressed," Jared said with a smile, mind already at work regarding details.

"Thanks," she grinned, forgetting for a moment their animosity as she flipped her long black hair over one slim shoulder, "it was no biggie, though. This way I can guarantee that whatever color scheme is chosen, it's chosen by me. And besides, it's the exact same thing my dad did in college, when he was trying to get my Mom to give him the time of day."

The group froze in their congratulations.

"Um," Jemima voiced, "isn't your dad kind of a…paranoid control freak?"

"Yeah," the girl answered unabashedly, "but it did the trick anyway. Mom realized what potential he had in regards to money-making schemes, while recognizing the benefits of never having to doubt his devotion of her. The fact that she eventually started to love him back helped, too."

"Okay," Jonah cleared his throat to break the ice even as the bell began to ring, "same time, same place tomorrow. Be ready with some ideas. We're going to need all the help we can get."

…………………………………………..

AN: Plot device, Mr. Frodo, plot device.

Wow, this chapter ended up really long. I'm mostly cranky with this chapter. Bliss/Harmony didn't come out like I wanted to the first time around, and I still think I don't quite have her right. Also, the flow is really choppy. But at least the end result got the job done.

A lot of bouncing around was done in this chapter, but it was required to answer a few questions I've been getting along the way. Such as why Arnold was so quick to start dating as soon after his wife's death as he had, Helga's misconceptions, and getting the ball on a roll in the way of pranks. A few more questions will be answered within the next two chapters, and several requests regarding specific characters will be fulfilled. No worries there.

New characters have also been introduced. Then fun part is in guessing who is whose kid. See you next chapter.

( YuGiOh also does not belong to me. But he and others'll keep popping up as the fic goes on.

"Is there something on my face?" is a shout-out to a wonderful artist and AMV creator, Genaminna. **http : / / genaminna . Deviantart . com / art / Hey Arnold – TJM – You – Remind – Me – 78712124.**

Now squish it together without any of the spaces. Also, some of her videos are:

**http : / / youtube . com / watch ? v e b 4 - szScc4M**

and

**http : / / youtube . com / watch ? v a - p3pvO67fU **)


	10. Chapter 10

Sunny Side Up By Shahrezad1 Summary: It's been years since the gang was together, and time's passed for everyone

Sunny Side Up

By Shahrezad1

Summary: It's been years since the gang was together, and time's passed for everyone. As adults, can Arnold and Helga get past their pasts and finally see the bright side again? Rated for future pranking.

Standard disclaimer applies. Don't own, just enjoy. End.

Chapter 10

"This is Phoebe Johansson, signing in for today's last session of _Talk to Me: Therapy Talk Radio. _ Just as a reminder, today's topic is Loving Yourself. I will now be taking the last call-in of the day."

Phoebe Heyerdahl Johansson was a singularly accomplished woman. Graduating first in her class in the double fields of Sociology and Clinical Psychology, even as she had quickly become the mother of four children, she was satisfied with her life and her ability to balance the chaos.

Hence the monstrous contraption overtaking her office. When her first pregnancy had resulted in not one, but three children, it had taken all of the Japanese-American woman's intelligence to figure out a way to be both mother and working adult. Particularly when her husband was a traveling sports caster, sometimes spending weeks at a time away from home. And so it was that a single episode of _Frazier_ had led to a complete life evaluation, and a large loan.

Working from home as a radio therapist, she'd become proficient at disassociating her personal and work personas. The latter existed purely from nine to five, before the station moved on to another radio 'loaner,' which allowed her the time to get the kids ready for school as well as the opportunity to help with homework and housework. The only drawback to her busy schedule was that from three till five, her children were free to do as they pleased. She'd always known, as both a mother and a therapist, that someday there would be a time when they would conflict. She just hadn't expected it to occur so soon. The girls were, after all, only nine.

Mind worriedly caught on the blatantly obvious signs of her daughters' current direction, she stifled a sigh and turned back to her last caller of the day.

"_Hello. My name es Chan—,"_ an accented voice began, words elegantly rolling together in one long flourish. Momentarily she wondered why someone as seemingly confidant would have need of advice from a therapist. Regardless, the doctor prompted her on as per routine—everyone had secrets, and everyone deserved the chance to air their grievances without judgment. Personal opinion taking a back seat, she opened herself to merely listening.

"Please, no names, Miss," she responded cheerfully, as she pressed the record button on her tape player.

Every one of her sessions were carefully taped and catalogued. For insurance issues, as well as entertainment purposes—in other words, she sent them to her husband. At first it had been just to share a few laughs, but over time the stories had become a journal-like catalogue of her days, slowly becoming their way of, sometimes humorously, staying connected.

"Is there a Pseudonym you would like to go by?"

"_Call moi…Antoinette. Marie Antoinette."_

She frowned in suspicion at the thinly veiled humor, senses pricked by a sudden feeling of _wrongness._ Her vocabulary use was fine; far better than most, but with a false ring to it. As though someone was reading a script or a play. Regardless, the mother of four kept her tone level, deciding to play along.

"Yes, that will work," Phoebe began, settling into her large, leather armchair with little shifting. The piece of furniture was her favorite, and allowed her to sink into it as though she was sinking into one of her husband's hugs from behind. What her listeners didn't know was that while she was talking to them, she in fact was quite comfortable. And even, sometimes, could be found balancing her checkbook or doing scrapbooking at the same time, "what was it you wanted to discuss today, Marie?"

"_I wished to speak of an issue zat has wracked my soul wis torment. It is a long and sorrowful tale to tell."_

"We have plenty of time to talk, should you need it. However, please bear in mind the applicability of your question in regards to our current topic."

The woman deliberately paused, as though nodding, _"It is truly a matter of loving one's zelf."_

"Please continue, Miss Antoinette."

The caller soon led Phoebe through a convoluted tale of love and loss worthy of a romance novel. Regardless of her suspicion that she was being pranked, she couldn't help feeling sympathetic and quickly made the decision to give the caller the benefit of the doubt.

"_Moi beloved husband died three years ago, in a disastrous train accident. At ze time I was but a young mother, with two little ones just under ze age of four. We were both sent into a shock for quite some time, and it has taken my children and I a long time to heal from our loss."_

Sorrow pricked the therapist as the memory of another young parent's loss superimposed itself on the caller's story, leaving her response more emotional than intended, "I'm truly sorry to hear about your loss. How are things for the three of you, especially your children?"

"_I'm doing…better. But Danielle and Patrick are haffing a difficult time of it," _the woman continued, words minutely enveloped in her accent as she was overcome with emotion, _"zeir largest difficulty is in not having a father figure, zetting them apart from many of zeir peers. And I…I haff a dilemma of moi own."_

"What do you mean?" caught up in the woman's story, Phoebe leaned forward in her seat, brows furrowed.

"_Zer…zer es a man. From work. He…he has asked moi if I am free to do things. Coffee, a movie, etcetera. But…"_ the woman paused dramatically, sob caught in her throat, _"how can I do somezing like zat to Frederick, my husband. To honor his memory wiz betrayal? Especially when, in moi 'art, I feel it es my fault for his death. What if et happens again?"_

"What happens again?"

"_I sentence anozer man to death! I'm truly not worzy of any man's love. Oh, Dr. Phoebe, whatever should I do?!" _

Her words hit closer to home than Phoebe would have expected, as her mind bounced from one memory to another until the caller's story began sounding like an overly familiar fairy tale.

"Well, Miss Antoinette, I believe the problem here is not so much whether or not you begin a relationship with this gentleman, but rather…the choice to move on. You _need_ to let go of the past, Marie. Not just for yourself, but for your children. And even for your husband. I truly believe that he does not blame you for his perishing—you yourself stated that he died in a cataclysmic train accident. He_ loved_ you, and above all, needs to know that you are loved past his death. Give this new gentleman a chance, as a friend if nothing else. Regain that strength of self-confidence that is inherent within your personality and perhaps, with time, you can learn to love again."

"_But…how do I learn to love moiself?"_

"Remember the things you enjoyed participating in the most, and even if you feel unenthused in regard to acting them out, do so regardless. Keep practicing the things most important to you, until it again feels natural. And spend time with your children. While you have lost a husband, they have lost their father and are probably dealing with the same grief you are so familiar with."

The woman eventually hung up, but not before she'd bestowed one last gem of repeated advice: an admonition to let go of the past and learn to love herself rather than punishing herself for her husband's death. That a new opportunity for love would eventually come if she just let it. Thankfully, it was a challenge she accepted with a flourish and, exhausted, the therapist was glad when she finally heard the dial tone sound.

Her head flopped back against her armchair and all was silent for several minutes before she eventually turned off the machines. Body active, her mind had already moved on to other things.

Namely, why. The question of 'why' always haunted her. Why did bad things happen to such wonderful people? And why couldn't there be peace between all peoples, of differing nationality and beliefs? Why did people chose to use their agency in ways that deliberately hurt others? It was the last question that had brought her to where she was. It had directed her through school, and onward into a field chosen specifically with helping others in mind. Because when looking back on her own driving force she realized that, above all else, she wished to help people, and always had.

So that no one would hurt the way her best friend had been hurt.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, the knowledge that Helga truly hadn't healed, but had remained suffering in silence. Even as she, someone supposedly able to help others, could do little for the person she'd cared for since kindergarten. Able to offer only friendship itself, she'd been there when she could and stepped back when it was time for Helga to stand on her own.

But she still wasn't, and that was the problem. Sighing, Phoebe Johansson picked up the now-cold cup of cocoa on her desk and pondered her current dilemma.

It had been the Senior Prom when Helga had decided to move on with her life. The decision hadn't been a surprising one, as she'd slowly come to that conclusion over the course of their last year of high school. And while the realization of some emotional maturity had played a part, it truly hadn't been about Arnold, but about Helga in the long run. Unsurprisingly, a lot of her decision had been influenced by a full-ride scholarship that had left Helga debt-free and out of her father's control. After graduation, however, it was as though her best friend had disappeared. Letters and emails became infrequent, and phone calls were virtually nonexistent.

Years after she'd first left, Helga had finally come back. But under circumstances that had torn Phoebe's heart in two. Arms wrapped in dual slings and bandages covering her head, her best friend had stood, composure held together by a thread as she had introduced her beloved son for the first time. Phoebe would never forget that day, nor the look she'd shared with her husband.

_Accept her, Gerald. For me, if not for her._

In the face of her love and the anguished face of one little boy, he couldn't help but go along with their wishes. The situation was to remain silent, and even should Arnold find out, the truth wouldn't be elaborated on. And in keeping their secret, Gerald would allow Helga, his old childhood bully, a chance to heal. Emotionally and physically.

It was times like those that helped her remember why she loved him.

Fortunately, over time Helga had regained much of her old personality, moving away but, this time, staying very much in touch. Visits became frequent between the two families—always existing but constantly hidden from the other family that centered in their social sphere. Through hard work, and a few close calls, Arnold had never known Helga had even been there.

Which was the problem. Phoebe didn't know if it was old habits dying hard, fear, or a lack of confidence that left Helga treating her peer with unkindness, but something was still wrong. Something remained unhealed. Which brought her thoughts full circle.

Sighing, she emptied her mug and set it aside for washing. Meanwhile, the day's tape was duly dated with a permanent marker and moved to a small pile that needed cataloguing on top of the desk. Just as she was about to carry everything to the kitchen, the front door slammed closed; a sound punctuated by the extreme silence that covered the entire house. Noting absently the two separate voices conversing, she was abruptly frozen into stillness as realization hit.

One of the voices was male. And it wasn't Jonah.

Ear pressed to the door, she waited until the tell-tale signs sounded before acting. The boy had a heavier tread than most, as indicated by the long creak of the loose board in the hallway, while his companion's tread was neither the distinctive toe-click of Gillian, nor the slouchy shuffle of Jemima, so he had to be with Jordan, the quietest walker of the three. Climbing up the stairs to the second story, he'd tripped on the rug in the hallway—a rug that existed purely for detection purposes. Which meant that he was now entering her daughter's bedroom, and that they were together, alone.

Red flag shooting up with the fervor of an Olympic judge, she was down the hall in a single shot and creeping from room to room, ear level with the rug. It wasn't long till she was crouched against Jordan's doorframe, eye locked on the keyhole and breath held with the precision of many-a ninja ancestor. What she did find, however, was nothing short of unexpected.

Muffled voices rose and fell in a cadence of thinly veiled anger, in what seemed to be an argument. An act that in itself brought the young mother to an abrupt halt.

Jordan _never_ argued.

Horror turned to sudden curiosity and, morbid fascination planted firmly in place, she leaned in closer.

"Look, I know how to break into a car and start it, but what you're talking about is going _under the hood_. I don't know anything about the _inside_ of a car—what if I broke something?"

"I thought you said you could do it," the girl responded coolly, frustration turning her words to ice, "besides, isn't breaking it the entire purpose of this venture?"

"Yeah," the youth responded gruffly, "but only temporarily. Big stuff sometimes takes hundreds of dollars to fix. Do you really want to throw that on a guy like him?"

There was a slight pause before she grudgingly agreed, "obviously there are some gaps to be found within this plan."

"Obviously," he mocked sarcastically. Immediately the Snow Queen made a return.

"Well, what would your suggestion be, Maximillion?"

"Don't call me that," the disgust rolled off his tongue in waves, washing over Phoebe momentarily.

"_Maximillion_."

"I said to st--!"

"Maximillion. Maximillion, Maximillion, _Maximillion_."

Phoebe stifled a snicker at her daughter's stubborn streak. While still a child, Jordan was by far the most mature of her four kids, youngest brother included. It was rather…enlightening to Phoebe, as a mother, to hear her daughter speaking her mind so forthrightly. Humor battled with parental disapproval as the adult finally came to a decision regarding her next course of action.

"Acting like a brat doesn't change the fact that I can't do it," the words were growled out, a surprisingly level response to childish behavior. Her eldest was somewhat cowed, if her sudden return to a normal tone was any indication.

"I'm sorry, Maxi—Max. I'm just…frustrated."

"Really? You don't say," completely deadpan.

"Yes,_ really_."

That was her cue. Rising from the floor, the young mother swung the door open with calculated calm, face steadfastly expressionless. It didn't stop Jordan's face from turning white, nor the youth from jumping in surprise. Between them lay her daughter's reversible foosball table, currently switched to its formal table side and littered with a variety of sketches and notes.

"Hello, Jordan," the girl's mother began with sugar sweetness, taking one delicate step through the threshold and into the intellectual's haven, "I don't believe I've met your friend."

The child gasped for breath momentarily before finally finding the air to speak. Fear took over, nonetheless, and the words came out in a nonexistent squeak, "thi—this is Maximillion. From school."

"It's Max," the boy interrupted irritably, then visibly wilted under the tiny woman's gaze as she took a moment to examine him. Shaggy brown hair rested on an oddly shaped head, beady eyes framing a hawkish nose and form draped in leather and oil-stained jeans. All together, she wasn't impressed. But setting all motherly instincts aside, she reminded herself of something heard long ago: sometimes the most beautiful gifts come in the plainest boxes. She smiled, and under that smile he faltered, "um, but you can call me Maximillion if you want, Mrs. Johansson. It's just…most people don't. Since it's my Pop's name."

"I shall call you Max, then," she answered smoothly, expressionless gaze falling once again upon the scheming duo, before she slowly began crossing her arms over her chest. Jordan ducked lower within her chair, recognizing her mother's actions for what they really were, "the two of you are acquaintances through the commonality of school, then? Working on a homework assignment? I comprehend. What are you currently experimenting with?"

"Auto-mechanics," the youth answered before his companion could stop him, then grimaced in the pain of having one's foot stomped upon, "er…for our science project."

"Really?" the Asian woman responded sweetly, before motioning toward the door, "in that case, perhaps I can aid the two of you. I have a book downstairs about the makings of engines as to their application regarding various pieces of machinery. Cars, planes, and the like. Maybe you can go over it together _in the kitchen_?"

Jordan winced imperceptively, but nodded nonetheless. Taking it as his cue to leave, the scruffy youth rose and headed for the door. Entirely missing the exchange between mother and daughter.

"Grounded. Library. Month," Phoebe whispered cheerfully to her eldest. The long-haired girl only nodded morosely and left the room. Several minutes later the book was out, and the two fourth-graders were poring over it. The mother exited the room and made her way upstairs to check on her youngest child, who had been napping, leaving the duo alone yet again.

The two children read silently for moments before, eyes catching one another, they smiled.

"Perfect," Jordan whispered as gleefully as her self-control would allow, shedding her grave visage without remorse, "that was utterly brilliant, Maximillion."

"It's Max," he responded automatically, then let out a fraction of a smirk, "and, yeah, that was great. Two birds with one stone. Do you think she'll notice it's gone?"

A serene expression took over her visage, and for a moment the boy's heart stopped, "you don't know them like I know them. They're professionals—she won't notice a thing. Now, let's do what we came to do," she interrupted herself as she flipped her way through the book, before finally falling on the information they needed, "We didn't pose as decoys without reason."

Meanwhile, two children snuck into a darkened office, tape in hand as it was summarily replaced with a blank copy. And up in Jordan's room, Phoebe pored over papers and plans thoughtlessly left out, a glimmer of understanding lighting a spark of inspiration within her.

………………………………………………………..

Something was seriously wrong with his best friend, Gerald decided. Every time he'd tried to call the guy he'd been distracted and vague. Every conversation was short and elusive. And for one of the few times in their lives, Arnold Philip Babcock was remaining silent about something that was bugging the heck out of him.

Gerald knew, he could tell. They weren't best friends for nothing.

Plane actually leaving on time, Gerald arrived home a day earlier than expected. As the aircraft landed and he somehow managed to find his baggage, three agendas pulled at his mind—the first being having a _long_ discussion with his wife regarding how much he missed her. The second was comprised solely of surprising his daughters at school. And the last revolved around his decision to finally confront his best friend at his place of work, bearing gifts. Namely, a quart of Slausen's best ice cream.

"I can't believe that place is still running," Arnold said ruefully as he picked at his favorite flavor, _Cake, Batter Batter Batter_.

"Arnold, don't pay attention to the unlikelihood of it all—just enjoy the results, especially since I paid. You know what I'm saying?" Concern disguised with a flippant response, he mulled over the frozen dairy treat, a full-out quart of _Tall, Dark, and Minty_. It was a front, he knew, to cover up pauses in conversation, and allow him time to think. Because, when it came down to it, he had absolutely no idea how to talk to his best friend.

They'd known each other since kindergarten, yet he couldn't even ask him about what worried him most. Like the fact that Arnold had been focusing on his wife's death so much that it had become unhealthy. And that, existing on sometimes only three hours of sleep a night, as of late the man looked worn and wasted. Change needed to occur, and if Arnold wasn't going to do something about himself, Gerald knew that the task fell to his hands.

_Listless is the word Phoebe would have used to describe him_, he thought absently as he searched for words, uncertainly not going unnoticed.

The shorter man quirked an eyebrow, before shrugging, "so, what was it you wanted to talk about? I've got a staff meeting in fifteen minutes, so…"

"You're on a short time limit. I get it, I get it," the black man rolled his eyes from his seat on the corner of his friend's desk. Taking one thoroughly tasteless bite, he finally decided to just get it over with and cut to the quick, "I just wanted to check and see if everythin' was going okay for you. I mean, we haven't talked in a while, so I thought I'd stop in just in case if you…needed to talk. If you want to. Talk, that is."

_Well, that was…eloquent_, Gerald thought silently, then shrugged it off. It wasn't his fault he had a hard time having heart-to-hearts. After all, it was his _wife_ that was the radio therapist, not him. Regardless, some small part of him berated his mouth for such unplanned callousness. Did he _not_ have the gift of tongues? Was he _not_ Fuzzy Slippers' protégé? That part of him was summarily smothered with a pillow.

"Talk?" both eyebrows had risen this time, and the teacher had a hard time biting back a grin, "you okay there, Gerald?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good," he responded quickly, before turning the conversation back on his friend, "the question is if _you're _doing good. You're cool, right?"

"Yeah, I'm cool. At least, cooler than I've been in a long time," Arnold licked his lips momentarily, as though searching for the right thing to say, then nodded, "in fact, I'm pretty much the best I've been since before Susan got sick."

"That's good," he answered automatically, then did a double take, "say _what?_"

A full minute of silence passed before his best friend again spoke, and on a completely unrelated subject, "Gerald, what do you think about Helga?"

The question was 'out there', but not entirely unexpected. After all, she'd just moved back into the neighborhood, and if the sports caster's phone calls with his wife were any indication, both of the blondes were now in working proximity. So why the sudden panic?

Because of a secret he was bound to hold, for his wife's sake, as well as Helga's. Time had given him the chance to really get to know his old bully, until he'd finally gained a grudging respect for her, then eventually a sibling-like affection. A relationship that tied him firmer than any age-old promise could have, so much that he was willing to hide the truth from his best friend. Which led to his current dilemma: How to respond?

His words had slipped once before, at the Parent Teacher conference. To do so a second time would be disastrous, even life-threatening. He would have to carefully watch his words, even as he attempted to find out what was wrong with Arnold, a man he esteemed as his blood brother.

"What about Helga?" the words were spoken quickly, defensively. Gerald cursed himself as the blonde man shot him a suspicious look, "um, I mean, I think she's okay. I guess. What about her?"

Eyes half-lidded, Arnold spoke very carefully, "I was just wondering what you thought about her. I mean, she's changed a lot since we last saw her. You and Phoebe spent time with her every now and then but, I guess not seeing her for so long…the transition is a bit of a shock to me."

"_Don't even think about it, Arnold."_

The words were out of his mouth before he'd even thought them, realization lighting his mind with a dark epiphany: Arnold knew. After all the years he'd kept her secret, somehow his best friend had still found out.

The blonde man's face twisted in confusion, "think about what? I didn't even _say_ anything."

Gerald frowned sternly, "she's not some damsel in distress you can save. And you certainly can't just waltz into her life and expect to sweep her off her feet! She's a person, not a puzzle, Arnold my man."

"Sweep h—! Gerald, I just wanted to…I just," shoulders dropping, the oblong-headed teacher finally gave in and barked out a laugh, "okay, you're right. I just…I think I might like her."

Gerald fell into stoic silence. This was about Arnold _liking _Helga? She was the reason for the distracted phone calls, the short attention span?! He had to be kidding! Tossing one probing glance at Arnold, he came to a realization of the truth, reassessing the situation even as his features blanked. Finally he spoke, tone careful and guarded, "so that's why you've been acting weird, then? Nothin' else?"

"Yeah," Arnold said, soft word shifting into a long sigh.

"You better be serious about all this," _again with the protective streak_, a sarcastic voice sounding much like his daughter Jemima threw in. Cursing his own lack of self-control, he schooled his features into a neutral expression and tried to straighten out their confusing conversation within his mind.

He had come to Arnold over his concern for the man, expecting to only get an earful of single father and widower woes. Instead he'd ran afoul Helga's penchant for deception, nearly revealing the truth in an older-brother-like concern. And then he'd realized that it was all because Arnold was interested in Helga, and wished to share it with his best friend. But Gerald couldn't help his further concern for the woman, knowing her past experiences. But how exactly did one explain something like that, while not really explaining it…?

It was all clear as mud, the taller man mused wryly.

"What's with the funeral voice?" brows furrowed, "all I said is that I might like her."

"Arnold, my man, you have to realize a few things. Helga is not like other women. She…she," choking on the secret he was bound to keep, Gerald tried his best to deter his best friend. Just as he'd promised to do. _Throw him off the scent, don't let him find out, Geraldo._ "Arnold, the woman hates you. Or at least hat_ed_ you. What makes you think she's going to suddenly 'Come to the Light Side'? It's not as though she has any reason to trust men at this point."

"I know, Gerald, it's just… Haven't you ever seen someone hurt, and just want to make it better? To help them smile, and to protect them from…anything that might happen to them?"

Like the soothing caress of his wife's hand, the black man suddenly realized that he was going about the situation completely wrong. Arnold hadn't found out, that much was true. And the change in his best friend's countenance was positive, rather than negative, as Gerald had assumed. In fact, he himself had said that he was doing better than he had in a long time; A year and three months, to be exact. Everything would be all right. He was dealing with _Arnold_, here, and if being interested in Helga meant both of them exiting their emotional funks, then…that was okay.

But Helga would have to tell Arnold the truth on her own, of that he was certain. He was tired of keeping her skeleton in his closet, and the next time he saw her he'd tell her so. In the meanwhile, a little encouragement couldn't help.

"Well," the man answered slowly, skeptical smile slowly spreading along his face, "I've never really felt that way. Except in cases involving Phoebe, that is. But…you used to a lot when we were kids. And I haven't seen you this…_emotionally invested_ in a long time, so…I guess I'll go along with it. You're one daring guy, Arnold, I have to say."

"Thanks, Gerald," the man sighed and rose, setting the now-empty container away, "well, I've got to go make sure I have the papers I need for the meeting. Elena's taking the bus with Jonah, since I can't drive her. Will you be taking the triplets home?"

The taller man cleared his throat and joined his friend by the door, nodding, "actually, yeah. I decided to surprise them, since I got back early from my trip."

"That's great. Tell Phoebe 'hi' for me."

"I will. We've definitely got a few things to talk about."

…………………………

AN: Don't own Frazier, I was just borrowing the concept. And it looks like we finally get to hear about Phoebe and Gerald's occupations. Truthfully, I had intended for the part with Phoebe to occur…right after chapter 6. I had this whole conversation mapped out between Phoebe and Jonah, where he basically asks for advice on what he should do in regards to getting Helga to like herself and matching up Helga and Arnold. But it was scrapped, since it didn't fit with the flow. Nevertheless, I kept the excerpt since I thought it was hilarious and really quite well-done. It was then used and reused (this is version 4.5, fyi) until I simply got frustrated and abbreviated the whole scene, then modified it for two other characters before finally settling on one. The only new information really needed was Phoebe and Gerald, to be honest, so revisiting scenes with Jonah was like kicking a dead horse. So I kept what I needed, and elaborated on it to explain more about the Johansson family situation.

And then I used it for pranking purposes. Muahaha.

The crappy fake accent of the caller was used intentionally, by the way. Those are deliberate spelling mistakes.

And I really don't like the rushed, choppy feel of Gerald and Arnold's conversation. Then again, G-man is jumping into a situation he's been removed from, and is thrown out of the loop. Nevertheless, I wish it had turned out differently, but at this point I'm on chapter 10 version four-point-five, so I'm willing to let it go. The last scene will run on into chapter 11.

And the cake flavors belong to Cold Stone ice cream. _Cake, Batter Batter Batter_ is my favorite, and _Tall, Dark, and Minty_ is my roommate's. She says it's the man of her dreams. laughs

"_Here's the ice cream creation of your dreams. Rich dark chocolate peppermint ice cream mixed with Oreo cookies. Where have I been all your life?"_

"_It's love at first bite. More than a hint of mint. I'm full of deep, dark chocolate secrets. I was mint for you." _Quotes copyright Cold Stone ice cream.


	11. Chapter 11

Sunny Side Up By Shahrezad1 Summary: It's been years since the gang was together, and time's passed for everyone

Sunny Side Up

By Shahrezad1

Summary: It's been years since the gang was together, and time's passed for everyone. As adults, can Arnold and Helga get past their pasts and finally see the bright side again? Rated for future pranking.

Standard disclaimer applies. Don't own, just enjoy. End.

**WARNING: This is going to be a really long chapter. Those that go into shock easily, please read at your own risk. Make sure to take short breaks involving sunshine, and exercise your eyes with a few eyebrow lifts.**

Chapter 11

"What can I do for you, Meredith?" the teacher asked the youth standing before his desk, eyes coquettishly fluttering and form liberally covered, head to toe, in the latest fashions.

The girl merely smiled, pastel sheet of paper held in one hand, disregarding any indication that he might be leaving the room.

He couldn't be late for another staff meeting. Molte would have his head.

"Mr. Babcock," she breathed soulfully, before handing him the ominously colored paper, "Ever since you gave us that announcement about the Winter Social, I've been completely struck by inspiration!"

"Excuse me?" he responded blankly, thoughts derailed by her unexpected words.

"I would like to submit my idea for the social," she scolded him lightly, eyes twinkling discretely as his eyes turned to the paper at hand, forgetting for a moment that he had places to go.

Family Social: A Family Intercultural Festival and Dance welcoming all faiths and nationalities to share the holidays together. Tickets running 5.00 per person. Proceeds to go to Hillwood Orphanage.

Gaping at the girl, he stumbled his words out as his began tracing details. Details a fourth-grader couldn't possibly have come up with.

But details a socialite of a mother, and an insane risk-taker of a father might have put together in a moment's notice.

"You came up…with all this?"

"Yes. And I've even determined the color scheme and decorations," she added cheerfully, finger hovering over the plans, "blue and silver. It's neutral, so won't offend anyone. And if we put up blue paper on the walls, then we can cut out silver stars and white snowflakes, which will reflect any color of lighting we chose."

"Meredith—."

She interrupted him with the crowning point, the one idea that had been 'the Group's inspired creation, "the theme will be unity. Lots of us believe different things, and everyone tries to make everything 'ok' by not choosing anything, especially for winter holiday stuff. What about if everyone _did_ dress up based on their beliefs or culture or whatever, and we had booths everywhere for them? With food, and some info, so people could have something to do during the dance. Like, we could have those weird pancake things, and then at the Japanese booth we could have white chocolate for…well, actually I think that's for their Valentines day. But _still_, it would be cool."

He held a hand up, pausing the monologue before he drowned in it, "so tell me again…_you_ came up with this? _All_ on your own?" Arnold asked pointedly again, suspicious.

And there was the dilemma. Meredith, daughter of a well-known crazy and a prima-donna, had a lifetime of experience in fibbing. The one thing she had learned in all her years of practice was that for a lie to be convincing—for her to really be able to look a person in the eye without anyone questioning her word—she had to tell the truth, at least in part. It wasn't so much what was said that was important, but what wasn't said.

"Well, Jalilah _did_ suggest the charity part of it_. I_ was thinking it could be a tax deduction for the school," she responded perkily, meeting his eyes with her own bespectacled ones.

The blonde teacher stared at her in momentarily disbelief, before turning to run a hand through his hair, eye falling on his watch in the process, "um. Okay. Thank you for your suggestion, Meredith. I'll be sure to give it to whoever ends up being in charge of decorations, okay?"

"Thank you, Mr. Babcock," she responded sweetly, watching as he left the room, "and it's no problem. It was the least I could do, considering."

"Considering _everything_…"

…………………………………………

He managed to get to the staff meeting not only on-time, but early. Despite the interruptions of both friends, colleagues, and students. Including a few unexpected interactions.

Rather than taking the bus home, as expected, Gerald had magnanimously offered a ride to both Elena and Jonah, as well. Arnold had seen his daughter off, but not before the duo, believing themselves free from watching eyes, had passed a series of notes to several children from different grades. While on one side of things he was happy that his daughter was finally making more friends, the other, more worried side of him had taken note of exactly each child they had come in contact with.

Meredith, the snobbishly intelligent child of his old schoolmates; the same girl he'd only just spoken with. Jared, with his cool head and knack for puzzles. Brainy's twins, and Cherelle, daughter of his old pen-pal, who'd weirdly decided to return to Hillwood after her brief visit so many years before. Stinky and Sheena's kid were in there, and even Lila and Sid's son. It was like shadowy reunion of the past, in the form of the next generation. He _should_ be overjoyed.

Yet it was hard to do so when every single one of them had played a part in previous pranks performed by the triplets. Shivering, he couldn't help but wonder what they were coming up with. And if it was something that might pull his daughter down farther than she already was. He knew she was still having a hard time with her mother's death, but couldn't she realize when enough was enough?

He would have to ask Phoebe and Gerald if they had caught on to anything their girls were planning. Especially if Elena and Jonah were being pulled along for the ride.

Arnold shot a discrete glance at the boy's mother, sitting across the room from his position by the window. Leaning against the long table that served at the staff's meeting place, her blonde head nodded as she listened avidly to whatever Dr. Harmony was saying them abruptly burst into laughter. A matching smile twitched the corners of his mouth, then faded as he leaned against the windowsill, just looking at her and taking in the tide of time.

It was almost ironic, he mused, for them to meet at the time and place they had. With him a single father, and her a single mother. Living lives similar, yet different enough that he couldn't even begin to understand what had happened to shape her into the person she was.

But he _wanted_ to know. The child in him was brimming with curiosity and concern for the girl he'd grown up with and had always watched out for, and the man in him was eager to bring them closer. To protect her, to care for her, and, he admitted in embarrassment to himself only, to get to know her better. As a man draws close to a woman. But how? How could he get her to open up to him? He just needed the right opportunity.

As a boy, he had always believed that, deep down, Helga was a good person. Regardless of the abuse she'd poured down on him, sometimes literally. Truthfully, he had been her primary target, yet it was to him that she had committed some of her most charitable acts. Again and again she'd proved common belief wrong, as she had helped him with everything from finding his hat, to saving the neighborhoo—.

The young teacher colored as memory threw him back in time, and in his mind that day passed before his eyes, as clear as though it had only been yesterday. He remembered, once again, what he had never forgotten. The words, the disguise, the kiss…

At the time he'd set her actions aside as being spur of the moment. He'd been nine, and there had been little more he could do. But a part of him hadn't ever let it go, buried deep down beneath college and marriage, and the worries of single parenthood. He'd never forgotten her words.

Despite his incredulity at the time, they'd explained everything. Her contradictory actions and words—they'd been those of a girl wanting to be cherished. A girl he'd only seen in glimpses over the years. This was the true Helga, the Helga that had raised Jonah to be the well-adjusted, undoubtedly loved child he was.

Yet as much as forthrightness was a part of her personality, so too was standoffishness. A part of her was held back, even now, but it seemed like only toward him.

Slight irritation tugged at his mind, mixed with confusion. Why did she always push him away? What was it about him that made her hesitate? He was tired of it all, and the next time he was given the chance to change things between them, he would take it.

Principal Molte entered the room in stately disapproval, hawk-nose framed by wire-straight grey hair. Silence followed in her wake, and Arnold instantly felt nervousness overtake him.

He would have to cross her path to take his seat. All around him, his peers shot sympathetic looks as they abandoned him to his plight. She hadn't yet reached her place at the head of the table, and, taking a chance, he headed for his seat with calm determination, eyes focused on the only open chair. Next to Helga.

Only to be frozen in place by words frigid with disapproval.

"Late again, Mr. Babcock?" she shot at him coolly, eyes ice chips behind horn-rimmed glasses.

His shoulders dropped momentarily before straightening, "actually, no. I," he searched for a defense, and met Helga's confused eyes in the process. Swallowing fear, he managed to find the courage he needed, "I was just making sure my daughter got to her ride okay. At the window."

The steely matron sniffed dispassionately, "Elena Bacock? The girl who makes trouble with those Johansson triplets?"

He gritted his teeth and forced a smile, even as he saw Helga's fist begin to form in the corner of his eye, "not anymore, no. I've had several long talks with each of them, and they've promised not to—."

"Really? Then explain to me the fact that they, as well as several other known Juvenile Delinquents, have been meeting regularly for several days in a row?" she demanded archly.

_Oh, no…_halted mid-thought as his fears were confirmed, he almost missed it.

"Actually," a calmly defiant voice sweetly broke the silence, "they've just been working on ideas for the Winter Social."

Arnold as well as the rest of the staff whipped around to stare at Helga, her audacity subtly veiled behind an elegant smile as she met the Principal's eyes.

The old Valkyrie blinked rapidly, composure lost momentarily as she was challenged by their newest staff member, "…really, Mrs. Billings."

Her smile lost some of it's warmth, "it's_ Ms._, actually. And my son has also been working with them on the project wisely assigned to them by their teacher."

Beside the blonde secretary, Dr. Harmony smiled peacefully, as though watching her favorite television program. While her eyes bounced between the battling duo for the most part, he caught her glancing his direction once or twice, but paid little attention to its significance.

He was too busy watching the upcoming train wreck.

Principal Molte steepled her fingers together and smiled, her usually down-turned lips grimacing in a mockery of positive expression. Triumphant look fading, only he noticed Helga's realization that she had stepped too far. And the elderly warrior was coming in for the kill, "if they are so far along with their planning, surely you wouldn't mind sharing these miraculous ideas with me, now would you? I did, after all, notice that the two of you had been placed on theme and decorations—despite the words I expressed wishing for the _opposite_," she spat out scathingly, causing her normally bubbly secretary to nearly burst into tears, "but if you're so eager to take up your cause, I suppose I can't stop you. And I would love to see the results your _darling_ children have come up with so far."

As her nemesis had spoken, Helga's eyes had slowly widened until they nearly reached her monobrow in height. Using the reprieve to his advantage, Arnold rushed to his place besides hers, knowing what Principal Molte knew: Helga hadn't been told about the staff members' part in the social, secretaries included. She'd been bluffing to save him from condemnation, which Molte was completely certain of, if her malevolent expression was any indication.

Without thinking, his hand dove into his briefcase for something, anything that would help them out of their predicament.

While it was standard procedure for him to receive at least some measure of reproach at staff meetings, he remained safe in his status of teacher with moderate seniority. Helga had only just been hired on, and while the staff majority was on her side there was not telling what would happen upon challenging Principal Molte.

His hand fisted on a colored piece of paper and yanked it from the disorganized depths it had been piled under. A little worse for wear, but triumphant, he passed the page to his former savior, currently in need of aid. Who stared at him in confusion for several seconds before finally reading its contents.

Then she smiled.

"Mrs. Billings?" the elderly woman prompted bitter-sweetly, smile starting to show fangs, "are you going to share their plans with us or no? I can understand if you are _unprepared_. We can always have the two of you present your plans tomorrow—."

"No," the blonde responded tartly, smile newly-returned to her face, "we're prepared."

"Well, pass it over then. We haven't got all day."

The sheet was shuffled down the row before finally landing in her claws. The woman's lips immediately took a downward turn, frown furrowing wing-like brows. Then, miraculously, it cleared. Replaced by something that looked like respect.

Sitting side by side, Arnold's hand brushed against the woman beside him, his shaking with agitation. He flushed, and made to move the offending appendage, but froze as hers lightly patted his own. Reassuring him with a single act, yet her expression remained the same—focused on confronting Molte.

"Well," the Principal said once again, pausing to slowly fold her arms, eyes resting on the united couple, the quiet teacher standing up to her in his own fashion. For the first time in his career, to be honest. And all for the woman beside him, who, rumor had it, despised him. And yet she had been the first to defend the man.

Patricia Ann Molte was cantankerous, arrogant, and irritable to a fault, but she wasn't unintelligent. She had specifically set aside the decoration section of the social as punishment for a lax second grade teacher, while allowing the new hire and fourth grade teacher easier assignments. Yet somehow they'd been assigned to the very one they should have avoided.

It didn't take a genius to connect the children's plotting with the mysterious switch, and while the disciplinarian within her felt the need to move everything back…the hidden romantic said to let it go.

The new secretary, Helena or whatever her name was, had something within her that reminded Patricia of herself. That unquenchable spark. She had seen it in herself at a young age, only to watch it dim with time, sorrowing its loss with a wall of anger.

Eyes misting over the past, Principal Molte came to a decision.

"I have to say…I'm impressed despite myself," stares and gasps filled the room, overshadowed by the triumphant smiles the two cohorts shared. And watching them, Patricia couldn't help but see years wash away from their faces as they enjoyed their reprieve. Down several chairs, Dr. Harmony passed her a subtle nod of approval, and the old woman beat back an embarrassed flush. The day she was on the same side as _that_ woman was the day she retired in order to accept a position as a clown.

She would let them have it, but she wouldn't make it easy for them.

"So impressed that I would love to see your plans regarding estimated costs and the use of our school tax exemption by next Monday," she smiled as their faces dropped, and the good doctor settled into an eye roll.

After all, close proximity between the two might help. And it would definitely be interesting to see what the children came up with.

…………………………………….

And that was the current predicament they were in, Helga thought wryly as her mind returned from her memory of the day previous. They'd gotten stuck with the largest responsibility of all (basically the whole social, to be honest), and they had to have everything planned by Monday.

It was Saturday, and she had a dinner to plan for.

A planning dinner, not a date, she reminded herself sternly as she drove into the grocery story parking lot. It had been Dr. Harmony's idea, voice sympathetic at their plight and eyes twinkling. But if she didn't know any better, and if Arnold hadn't agreed so readily, she'd think the good doctor had something to do with the whole mess.

Pulled from thought, she blasted her horn at a moronic driver.

"Crimeny! Can't anyone tell an entrance from an exit anymore?" she muttered irritably as the driver, an old lady with a purse-sized poodle, gave her the finger.

"The same to you," was her inevitable response, taking the woman's spot with satisfaction. The walk to the door was short but wet, as it had started raining on the way over, leaving her drenched within the three minutes it took to get from her car to the store. Rolling it off her shoulder, she pulled out _the List_.

While the dinner had been Bliss' idea, it had been Arnold that had suggested the time and place. Namely, seven o'clock and at his place. He'd even offered to cook for them, provided she pick up a few things. Which was what led her to her current situation: fighting with a punk sporting a nose ring for the last cart in a gladiator-like staring match. The girl glared at her, Mohawk quivering, before turning to snatch up a hand-basket.

The child in Helga snickered gleefully, while the adult in her merely moved to the produce isle.

_Spinach…spinach…spinach_, finger hovering over the racks of lightly watered vegetables, she slowly walked down the aisle. Finally finding the green she wanted, the blonde woman reached out to grab it from its place.

"That's a type of lettuce."

The sprayer took her pause for assent and doused her liberally with water. Gasping, twice-drenched, and ultimately pissed off, she snatched up the irritatingly cheerful piece of vegetation and threw it in her basket.

"Look, kid, I know what I came here for. And I don't know what planet you hail from, but mine says this is spinach," she responded flatly, before moving onward

"Your planet must be Mars, then, since that's lettuce here on earth," was the surprisingly sarcastic response, "and while Dad can probably toss it into a salad, it might not taste right in his Lasagna."

_Dad?_ Blinking rapidly, Helga whirled around only for her gaze to land on a certain football-headed child. Memory superimposed her view and for a moment her world seemed to spin. The same eyes, that same stance...

_"Why did you do it, Helga?"_

Clutching her cart with a death grip, she gasped out for breath, eyes closing and throat slowly cutting itself off. Only to be drawn back by a tug on her damp jacket, limpid green eyes gazing up at her in worry.

"Are you okay, Jonah's mom? Are you sick?"

Swallowing her nausea back, she forced herself to smile and reached out to rest her hand on the young girl's shoulder, "no, I'm alright. I just…lost my balance there for a second."

"You're not sick, then?" the girl checked again with an overly worried tone.

Not thinking, the young mother placed her hand on the girl's head, brushing a few strands back into place, "no, I'm not sick."

Several seconds passed before she realized what she had done. Attempting to rectify the situation, she pulled back, only for her hand to be snatched up by Elena's own, the girl's left hand drawing a hand-basket nearly half her size. Surprised, the adult let her have it, allowing her fingers to remain clutched within the tinier ones, steadfastly ignoring the warm feeling that had spread through her heart.

"So," she broke the silence as they headed for the next clump of vegetables, pace slow in respect for the child's shorter legs, "if that's not the spinach, then what is?"

"That," Elena pointed with her chin at a pile of freshly dripping plants, before indicating that Helga return the lettuce back. Which, with a discrete eye roll, she did.

"And do you happen to know what kind of squash your dad wants me to get? 'Cause his handwriting seriously needs some work."

"That one. We only have spaghetti squash when we have vegetarian spaghetti, for George's sister when she comes over," was the prompt reply, basket awkwardly balanced as the tiny girl shoved her glasses up her round nose.

Watching her out of the corner of her eye, Helga spoke, toning down her earlier sarcasm in favor of finding the right way to broach the elementary school student. While she was familiar with the little girl, seeing her in the halls and when dropping Jonah off to play, Helga had had very little one-on-one contact with Arnold's daughter. She would have to tread carefully, not knowing either how Elena would react to dry wit, or even whether their conversation would end up being parroted to her father by the end of the day.

"So…what's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"

"Just lucky, I guess," was the automatic reply, and Helga bit back a momentary smile, "but I guess I could ask you the same thing," Elena continued, large blue hand-basket dwarfing her miniscule form.

"Shopping," was Helga's unchecked reply. A can of mushrooms was tossed into the cart, then summarily rescued from its dinged death.

"Um," the girl's glasses slid down her nose as she reached into the cart's metal depths, pulling out the container, "that's olives. You might want to grab the mushrooms."

Determinedly expressionless, Helga continued onward.

"Well," the child corrected herself, returning to their previous conversation , "I'm here 'cause I asked Dad if I could choose dessert. So I've got to get some ice cream and stuff."

"Ah," was Helga's neutral response, before she came up with an idea, "you know what, Elena? How about you go put that basket back and we can share a cart. How does that sound, Kiddo?"

"Okay! I'll be right back," bouncing along in her lavender blouse and pleated skirt, Elena rushed off before swiftly returning minutes later. Not nearly enough time for Helga to collect her thoughts.

Half of her monobrow arched in surprise and a little respect, "you gonna try out for track one day, eh Shorty?"

The girl snorted indelicately, and her adult companion hid a grin, "maybe. The day Abner flies, and I have a Mom again."

The girl seemed to freeze at her own words, before forcing herself to relax. The blonde woman wisely said nothing, giving her a chance to regain her composure.

"So," Helga began very carefully as she tossed a can of tomato sauce into her basket, "what's your favorite subject in school, Elena?"

"Art," was the prompt reply as the girl rescued the item once again, "and this is tomato paste. Can you grab that jar up there?"

"No problem."

"You don't do this very much, do you?" was the tiny brunette's dry response.

Helga bit back a bitter comment in favor of a lightly sarcastic one, "no, I absolutely _love_ to create elaborate creations with a variety of mysterious ingredients, is all. Especially when it'd just two people I'm cooking for, because you _know _how wonderful leftovers are after a big meal. Doi!"

"You sound like my mom," she chortled, then abruptly feel into completely seriousness, "but you really don't do that, do you?"

"No."

"Good. Otherwise I'd have to kill you," she explained with completely solemnity, but a twinkle in her eye.

"Agent Double-Oh-Negative, then?"

"Yep."

A bark of laughter escaped the adult's mouth as Elena climbed on to the front of her cart, arms wrapped around the rim.

"You're funny to talk to," the child stated, smiling.

"You should see me _really_ perform, then. At the _Hillwood Star_ theater every Thursday, at nine. Ask for Lenny," blue eyes sparkling, Helga began pushing the suddenly heavier cart through the aisles, not really focused on the list anymore but rather the conversation they were having.

While there were sparks of Arnold within the little girl, much of Elena was made up of her deceased mother. The retorts and ready comebacks were intelligent, her vocabulary was somewhat expanded when compared with her peers, Jonah and Jordan excluded, and her sense of humor was up to par with Helga's own, for the most part. Helping Helga along to the realization that, while surprising at the first, she didn't mind the short girl's company at all.

And if she'd been given the opportunity, she probably would have liked Susan Babcock, as well.

"Can he get me a seat in the front row?"

"Yes, but only if you give him licorice-flavored jelly beans. He's _very_ particular."

"_Licorice?_" Elena scrunched her nose in distaste, then grinned, "maybe chocolate strawberry malt."

"Strawberry?" one side of the brow shot up, "naw, I'm allergic," her hand rested on her chin as she pretended to ponder the serious matter of candy flavors, "what about peach berry vanilla smoothie? Now, _that_ is a flavor!"

A grin spread across their faces.

Which came to an abrupt halt as the scowling face of an elderly matron passed by, her own grandchildren suitably chastened within their basket, rather than perched on the edge as Elena was. The two small boys looked enviously on as Elena gripped the front of the basket, feet propped up on the bottom bar. Suddenly remembering the sign on the baby seat indicating the lack of safety coming from such an action, Helga calmly draped it was her purse and jacket, then waited for the woman to turn away.

And her tongue was immediately out, blowing a raspberry at the elderly customer's back. Before the woman could react, Helga and Elena had already turned the corner, holding their laughter back until they were several rows over.

"That was great! Did you see those boys' faces?" the brunette child burst out geefully, giggles overtaking them as their eyes watered with mirth, "and you sticking out your tongue! That was so _cool!_"

Calming enough to breath, Helga ruffled the girl's wavy brown hair with a fond smile, "thanks, shorty-my-girl."

She froze mid-stretch, "you don't mind me calling you that, do you?"

"Sure," the girl shrugged, pushing up her slipping glasses once again, "I'm okay with it."

"Great," the smile they shared fought bravely against the gloom outside, momentarily lighting the area.

It was Helga that broke the moment with an unholy grin.

"You wanna race through the store?"

And they were off, fighting an invisible foe to the finish line as they snatched items up as they passed. Several laps later they had reached the checkout stand, panting with exhaustion and mirth. Piling their items onto the counter, they studiously ignored the looks they were receiving from the grandmother several checkouts over. It was this circumstance that directed Helga's eyes elsewhere.

Eyes that thereby landed on a pickpocket taking advantage of a young mother's distraction to relieve her of her wallet.

In that instance she was back on the playground, excitement cooling in favor of pure adrenaline. Indicating to the cashier that she would be back, she turned toward the scene.

A tug on her sleeve halted her momentarily, and she was met once again by Elena's eyes, pure confusion staring up at her.

"Where are you going?"

"Nowhere," was her reply, then a smile emerged, "this'll just take a second."

"Okay."

Trailing after the sound of bickering children, Helga once again found them. The silent youth, pants bagging with bulging pockets rather than chains and hoodie pulled down low, had almost extricated the pocketbook in question, but not quite. Just as he thought he'd shaken it loose, he felt a breeze brush against his cheekbone.

Something was wrong.

Ready to whirl around, he was frozen in place by the fierce grip upon his shoulder, other wrist trapped in a vice-like hold.

"You know you really don't want to do that, right?" a silken voice whispered soothingly, darkly, like poison swirling within a cup of wine, "because you can only imagine how it will turn out. The poor woman gets to the checkout stand, only to realize that her wallet is gone. She has no money to buy food for her children. Because, if you'll notice, she's only bought the bare necessities. And at the lowest prices, too. Tsk, tsk."

"You wouldn't want to do something like that to a _defenseless_," the hands clutching him tightened painfully, and he bit his lip to hold back a whimper, "_Young_. _Mother_. Now would you?"

"N-no," he choked out shakily.

Behind him, Helga smiled. Then snatched up the wallet, giving the thief a little love tap on the head. He dropped soundlessly, and she shoved him into a side aisle before strategically passing by the woman's cart, then calmly returned to the front of the store.

Ignoring the two store associates exclaiming over the fallen youth a small distance away.

And peaking around the corner, Elena remained silent as she stored the image within her memory. Of Jonah's mom stopping a thief, then returning the stolen item with neither praise nor recognition.

………………………………………….

Arnold stared at the stove's interior, debating whether or not to scrub it clean.

Saturday was Arnold Phillip Babcock's day for cleaning the boarding house, repairing anything that needed fixing, and tending to the boarders' needs. However, for some reason he had felt the need to be a little…enthusiastic in his work.

"What are you doing?" George had asked as he had walked into the kitchen to find Arnold scrubbing at the bottom of the table several hours previously, gloves liberally covered in a sticky substance.

"Getting all the gum off of the bottom. Elena likes to stick it there when no one is looking," had been the terse reply, as the oblong-headed man had scraped ineffectually.

"Um, you might want to close your…" he'd winced as the man began hacking out a cough, piece of petrified rubber trapped within his throat, finally leaving with a calm, "…never mind."

Arnold had given up on the table after that, instead turning to other tasks. And the boarding house was showing it. Scrubbed free of caked on grime and soap scum, the bathroom practically twinkled with cleanliness. Anything carpeted was vacuumed, while wooden and tiled surfaces had been swept and mopped. Hanging pictures were straightened, and the refrigerator was summarily cleaned out. All while his radio crooned out tunes from years past, a soothing harmony to the cacophony he was creating.

Frankly, he couldn't help it. While in a logical sense he knew that Helga knew he was a single father, given to disorderliness. In addition to the fact that he ran a boarding house; a place perpetually beset by clutter and disastrous mess. Logically, she would neither note the grime, nor even care, being that the dinner he was to put together was based purely on the camaraderie of two people doing a project for their mutual jobs. It shouldn't matter, especially when it came to areas of the building unlikely to be seen by the blonde secretary.

But his emotions were egging him on, urging him to clean regardless of logic. They wanted the place clean and impressive—perfect for her inspection, as though the process in itself was an indication of his worthiness as an interested bachelor. Whether or not she was interested in _him_ or not.

Unbidden, the feeling of her hand resting momentarily upon his, returned. Removing with it the worries of his logical side and opening his mind to more important questions—such as whether to clean the stove or not to clean the stove?.

Carrying the image of a beautifully created lasagna within his mind, he headed for the supply closet.

And in that moment a set of two children climbed out from within a series of air vents above the stove, silently aiding one another out before slowly making their way to the man's radio, popping in a tape, and pressing play. They were gone before the young father had returned, and even then it took him several minutes before he realized what was different.

_"Moi beloved husband died three years ago, in a disastrous train accident. At ze time I was but a young mother, with two little ones just under ze age of four. We were both sent into a shock for quite some time, and it has taken my children and I a long time to heal from our loss."_

Frowning, Arnold tried to remember if his favorite station was prone to switching toward a talk-radio type angle, before quickly coming to the realization that it was more than likely a wiring problem in the old piece of machinery. It had probably just switched to AM radio, accidentally, flipping from one to another without pause. Rising to change the station back to its former place, he stopped halfway across the kitchen floor as the woman caller continued, frozen by her words.

_"I'm truly sorry to hear about your loss. How are things for the three of you, especially your children?"_

"_I'm doing…better. But Danielle and Patrick are haffing a difficult time of it. Zeir largest difficulty is in not having a father figure, zetting them apart from many of zeir peers. And I…I haff a dilemma of moi own."_

'_Their largest difficulty is not having a father figure…'_ the words echoed within his mind again and again as his hand repeatedly clenched down on the scrub-brush he held, mind frozen as he remembered another conversation weeks prior. _'She's just missing a mother figure, that's all.' _George's words took on a parallel tone, and unnoticed, the therapist and her patient continued.

"_What do you mean?"_

"_Zer…zer es a man. From work. He…he has asked moi if I am free to do things. Coffee, a movie, etcetera. But…"_ the woman sobbed momentarily, words caught tightly by sadness, _"how can I do somezing like zat to Frederick, my husband. To honor his memory wiz betrayal? Especially when, in moi 'art, I feel it es my fault for his death. What if et happens again?"_

_How can I do something like that to Susan? To her memory? Especially when everyone who loves me has tragedy thrust upon them? _Unbidden, the words blossomed in his mind like a deadly flower, and his heart nearly stopped as an image appeared before his eyes. Of Susan, happy and young. Then, exhausted but filled with joy, Elena lightly sleeping within her arms. Of smiles, and kite-flying days. And, finally, the image that would remain forever imprinted upon his memory, of him at his wife's bedside, her beautifully heart–shaped head covered in a cap to hide the lack of hair, her own curly dark locks lost in the struggle. She'd smiled up at him, one last time, her withered hand gripped within her daughter's tiny sun-browned fingers, before telling them both how much she loved them. Then had fallen asleep, to never wake again.

"_What happens again?"_

"_I sentence anozer man to death! I'm truly not worzy of any man's love. Oh, Dr. Phoebe, whatever should I do?!"_

"_Well, Miss Antoinette, I believe the problem here is not so much whether or not you begin a relationship with this gentleman, but rather…the choice to move on. You need to let go of the past, Marie. Not just for yourself, but for your children. And even for your husband. I truly believe that he does not blame you for his perishing—you yourself stated that he died in a cataclysmic train accident. He loved you, and above all, needs to know that you are loved past his death. Give this new gentleman a chance, as a friend if nothing else. Regain that strength of self-confidence that is inherent within your personality and perhaps, with time, you can learn to love again."_

_She loved you, and above all, needs to know that you are loved past her death…_suddenly calm, a wave of warmth filled his heart and soothed his anxiety. Absently, Arnold began his attack on the oven. Noticing neither the end of the conversation, nor the pointed click as the tape recording came to an end, caught up in his own thoughts and possible plans.

_Give this new lady a chance, as a friend if nothing else. With time, you can learn to love again, _the words came unbidden. And this, time, in Susan's voice.

He had the answer he needed.

…………………………………………….

AN: And I was going to make it even longer. wiggles eyebrows mischievously The actual dinner will come next chapter, and will probably be entirely by itself, as a stand-alone thing. Sorry for all of you that I promised action in this chapter. I just didn't expect for it to end up so…long. I'm already 12 pages, single spaced, 12 pt type, and counting, when the highest length I've had for any given chapter is 9 pages. But in this instance, splitting up the situation will be a blessing. Because then I can give the interaction the attention it deserves.

evil laughter

I really did enjoy this chapter, although it was written in pieces and then pulled together. Everything worked the way I wanted it, however, and the tape from Phoebe's study strikes, fulfilling its purpose. We'll probably be seeing more of it later. Also, the request for 'Elena/Helga quality time' was fulfilled, and will _continue_ to be fulfilled with following chapters. Phoebe and Gerald will also be playing a part in the chaos, now that they know what their children are scheming.

And lastly, man, I feel bad for Susan. She's told Arnold to 'move on' so many times, yet his so _dense_. I guess that's part of his lovability, though. Let's see how well she does with Helga, though.

("Jonah's Mom"--I have this bad habit of calling the parents of my friends "So-and-So's Mom" rather than their first name. It just feels wierd to say, for example, "Hey, Julia, how are you doing? That divorce working out for you?" Wierd, just wierd.)

Shitsurei shimasu, Minna-San. (Farewell, everyone.) Until chapter 12.


	12. Chapter 12

Sunny Side Up

By Shahrezad1

Summary: It's been years since the gang was together, and time's passed for everyone. As adults, can Arnold and Helga get past their pasts and finally see the bright side again? Rated for future pranking.

Standard disclaimer applies. Don't own, just enjoy. End.

Chapter 12

The rain pattered on her car roof like a child tinkling on a piano, droplets creating a counterpoint to the sound of the radio soothingly crooning away in the darkness. Her ears were caught in a combination of the two, even as she attempted to focus on the words of her passenger as she directed her car further into the deluge. Either not noticing or simply disregarding her surroundings, Elena chattered on about everything from drawing, to her favorite movie, and onward to how she had met Jonah, bouncing from subject to subject without pause or notice. It was a happy serenade to the melancholy of the evening air.

Regardless, the conversation couldn't distract her from the upcoming planning session. She refused to think of it as a date, reminding herself sternly that the whole situation had been pressed upon them by an irate boss. Regardless, the romantic side of her, buried long ago with the abuse of her husband, had seemingly been resurrected. _Dinner plus conversation equals date_, it whispered within her mind.

Waving away the thought as she would a fly, she attempted to distract herself with his daughter's words. Even as, irritated and slightly put-out, her romantic side fought back with an attempt to seep itself into her mind. Not by spouting poetry as it might have in the past, but rather with images of 'Arnold the Boy' versus 'Arnold the Man'. Both upstanding and kindhearted, but the latter so much more wonderful for all of his life experiences. Loving with children, just as he would be in regards to her, if given the chance.

Despite herself, memory took over once more and, unbidden, she remembered the look in his eyes as he'd realized that she'd risked herself to defend him. The feel of his hand under hers—the first real physical contact they'd had in years, and the first real effort she'd made toward a peace offering. And the smile they'd shared, connected by their mutual defense of one another.

It was a step in the right direction. A step Bliss had clearly identified, if her satisfied reaction was any indication. But only toward a new friendship between them, Helga reminded herself. That was all she was seeking: _friendship_.

They weren't having a date. It was merely a…meeting. Between coworkers and peers, who were working on an upcoming activity together.

Her hands, once known fearlessly as Ol' Betsy and the Five Avengers, gripped the steering wheel in a sudden sticky mess, moist with sweat. And despite herself, she fought the urge to scowl. Or suddenly spout poetry.

_It wasn't a date._

Helga's pastel car rolled to a stop before the Sunset Arms boarding house promptly at seven, the two companions quickly making their way to the door. Despite the short walk, both were liberally drenched in water by the time they'd reached the porch awning, hair stringy and arms protecting several sets of plastic grocery bags. Looking the worse for wear, Helga met Arnold's clear green eyes amid the rain and the thundering clouds, soaked to the bone as, unnoticed, a steady stream of water dripped rhythmically from her round button nose and unto the mat below her. The football-headed man remained politically silent, merely swinging the door open wider to let the damp pair in.

_Not the greatest impression to make for a date_, a part of her whispered ironically. And a deep blush was born.

Her romantic side was summarily tied up and gagged, giving her the chance to get a good look at her host as they were welcomed into the one place she had ever felt at home.

Truthfully, he wasn't much better than she was.

Wrapped in a decorative apron, littered with tiny colored airplanes and two sets of distinctly feminine handprints, slippers, and rubber gloves, he looked comically homey despite himself.

"Here, let me take your coat."

The words interrupted her perusal. Allowing him her jacket, she leaned momentarily against the door to give him room to hang the article on the peg labeled 'Guest'. Almost taunting her very effort at detachment, Fate threw a wrench in as the exposed flesh of Arnold's arm brushing lightly against her shoulder, the man reaching high above him. A blush lit his oblong face and, surprised at his reaction, she flushed in return before turning toward his daughter, the scent of his shampoo finding a permanent place within her senses.

"Soooo," she broke the awkward silence as the moment continued to drag on, facing her old victim nee' love with a decidedly bland expression, her hands beginning to ache due to the deadweight they held, "what've you got planned, Arnoldo?"

The two Babcock's faces showed surprise then, on his account, humor. The young girl stayed strangely silent as her eyes bounced from adult to adult, having been given her first chance at observing the two of them together.

He shrugged and removed his gloves, placing them absently in one of the apron's overlarge pockets, "Well, I figured we could start dinner together—I could work on the main dish, if you wanted to take care of the vegetables, and while it was cooking we could work on the Social."

"You'll regret asking for my help. And don't say I didn't warn you, Bucko," she bypassed the blonde man to share a wink with his daughter, then headed forward to what she knew was a storage closet, "now, which way's your kitchen?"

"Um, it's actually that way," sudden realization made him flush as he belatedly retrieved several sacks from both of the females until he was teetering comically, their slim fingers now practically empty. Elena shared an eye-roll with her new friend, for a moment looking so much like her father that Helga's breath stopped, and almost forgot to start again.

Helga took a moment to check her surroundings.

The old brown wallpaper was the same as it had ever been, worn and familiar. It had been there from their childhood onward, and she couldn't remember a time it hadn't been that color. But interspersed with old black and white photographs of a couple she'd known and loved were images of Arnold and a dark-haired woman, long ringlets framing a mischievously heart-shaped face, and eyes, so very like her daughter's, offset by thick frames.

This was Susan, the woman Arnold had been married to. Her heart ached despite itself, but she forced herself resolutely on. Picture by picture, his life added up to create a wonderfully idyllic painting. Until the last family portrait, in which one figure was conspicuously absent. And the eyes of the two football-headed figures lay silent and unsmiling as death.

_As death._

"Miss Billings? Miss Helga?" a sweet voice called out to her curiously amid the silence.

"Coming," the woman said automatically, noting furniture changes as well as a switch to more environmental-friendly lighting fixtures as she passed. Entering the kitchen she was met by Arnold's slim figure pouring spaghetti noodles into a boiling pot of water, posture tense and expectant. His daughter was a contrast of epic proportions as she leisurely munched on carrot sticks at the table, doodling.

It was a bomb waiting to explode.

Time seemed to stop as several roads opened up within her mind's view. She could come into the house like a lamb to the slaughter, silent and in control. But that would only leave Arnold worried the entire night that she might start something. Or she could come in swinging, bully routine as familiar as the pink bow she sometimes still sported. Which would meet his expectations, but his disappointment would be too much for her to bear. Or, she could be herself, the woman who had single-handedly raised her son with humor and love. Prove to Arnold that she was a different person, a different Helga.

Taking Bliss's words tightly in hand, the thirty-year old came to a decision. She could either be part of the problem, or she could be part of the solution. No matter what it took, all grudges put aside.

"_Carrots?!_" Helga shouting dramatically into the room, entering the room with a single swing of the door. Her entire presence, body and expression, was a delicate cocktail of acting and light banter, as she shot her peer a disgusted look, hip cocking as she folded her arms and acted out the part of a lifetime: snooty Rhonda look-a-like, "you're kidding me, right?"

His head flew back in surprise, worry and anxiety lost in puzzled shock, "What? What are you talking about?" confused, he met her eyes, then turned in the direction she'd been facing. She watched as realization hit, his glorious green orbs falling open wide. Along with his mouth, ready with an incredulous question.

She elegantly cut him off before he had the chance for defense, childish glee whipping through her as the teasing unceremoniously began, "_Please_ don't tell me you've got her on a vegetable kick. She's a _kid_ for heaven's sake!"

Suspicion slowly falling into a steady calm, he arched a questioning brow but continued on resolutely, shrugging, "they're healthy. And Elena likes them."

"They're my most favorite vegetable," the girl threw in, watching the sudden argument with deep interest, "but only without the outsides."

"_See_ what you've started, Football-head?" she exaggeratedly threw a hand in the girl's direction, hiding a grin behind a look of dramatically shameful disappointment, "soon she'll be rejecting junk food altogether!"

Mouth open for a retort, he abruptly stopped and smiled, his eyes suddenly lidded as pleasure found its way into them, "Whatever you say, Helga," for a moment time seemed to reverse and it was as though they were kids again, recognition of the twinkle in her eye pulling them back to schemes of the past. He shook his head before returning to the food, smile lingering on his face unnoticed.

"Here, Elena, have a mint," the piece of candy sailed across the room to land within the girl's three-fingered hand as, inwardly, Helga grinned with triumph. Motor Mouth Helga struck again, without either Ol' Betsy or the Five Avengers taking a part. For one of the few times in her life she'd won a battle without the use of her fists, but rather her words. It was another step onward.

Ignoring the blonde man's look of wry humor at her open rebellion and rolling up the sleeves of her pink sweater, she moved to stand a proper distance from him, "So, what do you need me to do?"

"Um," his mind halted momentarily as he was forced once again to adapt to her mood swing. Neutrality had been established, but her sudden willingness was surprising. Pleasant, but surprising, "well, if you would wash your hands, and then wash and cut those vegetables over there, then that would be great."

"No problem," she headed for the sink, then stopped abruptly, bark of laughter escaping her throat. It looked like he would have the last laugh after all.

"Carrots? First she's munching on the silly things, and then you want me to help incorporate them into _your_ meal!"

"At least they're not strawberries," the cheeky reply came unbidden, automatic from the man—his first tentative push back. Shooting a surprised look over her shoulder, she was met with a thinly veiled smirk. The hilarity of the situation washed over her like a wave of warm air, and self-control was lost as laugh bubbled up unbidden. Cheerful, golden-hued, and sweeter than anything Arnold had heard in a long time.

They said no more, mood calm and jovial as, caught up in their individual tasks, the meal was soon well underway. Arnold shortly had the tomato sauce poured into a pan and began mixing in the mushrooms and a variety of seasonings, until little time had passed before the air was filled with an appetizing aroma. Helga's stomach growled, a sound that loosed Arnold's laughter before he could hold it back. She merely tossed him a light frown, countered by a quick grin.

"So," he suddenly spoke into the empty air, hands hard at work as he carefully balanced stirring the noodles and the sauce. Blue eyes watched those hands out of the corner of her eye. Lightly calloused and sun-browned, they were the hands of a man who helped others. Who did what needed to be done without pause or excuse. A man who took care of those he loved, "where's Jonah? I thought he'd be coming tonight."

"Oh!" surprised by the sudden switch from silence to conversation and embarrassed with where her mind had caught, she answered without thought, "he's helping Dean…no, Dennis? Well, he's helping someone else in your class with some writing assignment you gave them. Lila," she forced the habitual bitterness from the name, determined to let bygones be bygones. Besides, Lila had married Sid, if Phoebe was to be believed, neutralizing any perceivable threat within her mind, "is going to drop him off when they're done."

The teacher blinked, then frowned thoughtfully, "well, I haven't assigned any writing homework recently. And Dennis is normally pretty good at that subject..."

"Extra credit, maybe?" she shrugged, "in any case, Jonah's with him. He'll be here soon."

He hummed lightly to himself in agreement. Their reverie was suddenly interrupted by his daughter running from the room, and for just a second the two adults shared a look of surprise. Glancing at the man beside her, bare inches taller than her own moderate height, she caught his embarrassed surprise and was sure her face mirrored the expression. They'd forgotten Elena had even been there, tied up in their own thoughts and awareness. Tactfully saying nothing, she turned away then continued her work. The young father took longer to return, thoughtful look turning to slight worry as his mind rested on his single child.

It was a look she was long familiar with, "So…I thought we were having Lasagna?"

"We were," Arnold answered absently, green eyes focused on the task at hand as he unceremoniously swiped her work from the cutting board and dumped it into a glassware pot. Adding a touch of water before placing it on the backburner to steam, he wiped his damp hands on a clean dishrag and slowly turned to face her, "but I realized that by the time it was done, it'd probably be _way_ past Jonah and Elena's bedtime. So I switched it for spaghetti."

"That was probably a good idea," she shrugged and smirked, watching him work and meeting his eyes for a moment before turning to the table, determined to get the job they'd been assigned done. As enjoyable as it was to merely stand, side by side, making dinner and enjoying the pleasant, uninterrupted quiet, there was a reason they were there. To work on the Winter Social, and make it acceptable in Molte's eyes.

They weren't having a date. They were there to work.

Exhaustion suddenly draped itself across her like a mantle, held up by the pillars of stubborn determination. And for just a moment Anrold was given a glimpse of someone so much like him it almost hurt him to see. But there, among the sympathy, arose the awe. This was the strength of the woman who had dealt with the cruelty of her family and husband and had moved on to become her own woman. Who had stood up, and balanced a job with single parenthood. She was a woman who finished what was started, regardless of whether or not she was the one that had started it. She was strength, and hope, and light.

The single father paused a moment to make sure nothing would burn, hiding his emotions behind a screen of busy nothings, before moving to follow her. Meredith's plans had been placed out on the table along with endless supplies, writing utensils, and sharpeners. They distracted him with their simple shapes, colors mixing before his eyes as green eyes moistened. It was all he could do to meet her eyes as she bestowed a weary smile upon him, and for a second in time he wondered what she was thinking that had brought on the melancholy to her sweet, unlined face.

"So…so far we've got the loose plan of a nine-year-old 'Popular' to work with," she summarized quickly, calmly, "the good thing is that she was pretty thorough. The bad thing is that there are a lot of details missing. Like which countries we'll be including, and who we'll have head them. Also, how exactly are we going to set them up, location-wise? Without causing lots of contention between the different groups, I mean?"

"Meredith suggested that we have booths along each of the gym's sides, explaining each of the different cultures. I thought we could borrow some of the tables from the teacher's lounge and cafeteria, and buy some of those fold-up poster-boards. That way we'll at least have something to start with. As for keeping the peace, Harold and Patty are both Police Officers, so we can ask them to be there, other responsibilities aside. Here are some notes I wrote down for the rest," passing a page full of chicken-scratch on over, he watched her expression carefully for approval or disapproval.

Her shoulders had once again risen, straight and firm as for a moment she set aside the worries he'd seen come over her. She was focused, blind to her surroundings as the determination to understand the information given to her put her into a temporary trance. And suddenly free from any sort of restraint, her companion's eyes once again caught themselves on the woman across from him. With nothing else to focus on, Arnold couldn't help but notice as her features smoothed and the barriers dropped for one of the few times in their lives. One half of a brow raised in surprise, accentuating delicately outlined blue eyes, and lips paused to purse speculatively at an interesting idea, drawing his eyes to her mouth.

Mostly she remained neutral, with only a few minute shifts to show any difference in feelings, one way or the other. Regardless, for Arnold time seemed to stop as he hung on her every expression, given the chance to see, if only for a moment, her mind work, inner walls transparent. Rising from her coma of thought, it wasn't until she'd entirely finished going through the list that she began pointing things out, giving him a chance to lid his green eyes with a pleasantly neutral expression. Hiding his own thoughts away.

"Having Harold be in charge of a Hanukah table is a good idea, but he'll probably have his hands full if he was security, as well," she frowned to herself, facing the situation with a seriousness Arnold couldn't help but admire.

"I figured they could alternate between him, his wife, and son," he shrugged in answer to her question, "we've got to remember that the kids can help out with this, too. They're more likely to come to the dance if they know they're involved in part of it."

"I noticed you wrote that, Hair Boy," she waved a hand in the page's general direction, before snatching up a paper of her own up as well as a distinctly purple pen. The man made note of the interesting choice, having placed a pink pen out as well, "the big thing is getting them to do things you know they're _really_ going to do their best at."

"Well," the teacher leaned back in his seat, arms resting behind his large head as he deeply thought, "if we can get them to work in groups on projects, it might be less intimidating than if we split people up. Or I can assign the posters as an in-class project, and then we can get volunteers to work at each booth. Either option works."

"Well, in either case I guess it'll be amateur work, but it'll show a lot of love," she chuckled slightly at the thought, smile wry, "it'll probably be easiest to have Elena design them, as another option, then have everyone do the rest of the work making the craptastic things. Props can probably be borrowed from some of the kids' families."

"Sounds like a good idea," he murmured thoughtfully. Out of everything, the booths were the largest uncertainty to him. Familiar with staging various activities, from the Block Party of their youth to current adventures regarding the school's theater program, he knew that any moment during the course of the night they could get knocked down, fall apart, or even start on fire (remembering a past Johansson prank).

The decorations had been pretty much dealt with, on the 'idea' level at least, but the booths would be a bigger problem. And, while the citizens of Hillwood were, for the most part, good-natured toward one another, he knew he would have to make certain that peace remained, otherwise what would start as a peaceful evening could eventually become a fiasco of flying food and broken school furniture. Maybe if each participant was asked to sign a form holding them legally responsible for their actions during the course of the evening, guests aside, Harold and Patty's help wouldn't be required? And the booths might survive to serve their purpose of educating and raising the money they were aiming for.

"The only thing that's not gonna work is her idea for the food," the woman muttered to herself, interrupting his thought process as her hair fell about her face, once again distracting him, "having it spread out, I keep thinking about how it's going to get a mess everywhere."

"Well," he said, "we could just have a sample of the foods at each of the booths, like they do at supermarkets. Then we can stick to punch and cookies in a supervised area. The theme-food would last longer at the tables, and we'd have less mess."

"Especially if we had garbage cans next to each of the booths that involved food," she continued, mind falling in line as he continued into the familiar.

Sketching out the setup, he was caught up in his own thoughts when Helga abruptly broke the silence.

"I'm sorry."

"What?" the word had exited his mouth before thought could censor it, his surprise throwing his mind for a loop as he heard the two words he'd never expected.

She swallowed, staring at her own purple cursive for a long moment, time drawn out as her large blue eyes rose to catch his green ones. Slim fists that has once seemed so fearful to him clenched in anxiety upon the table, fingernails digging into the sharp flesh of her palms. Fighting the urge to place his own upon hers, he merely waited. Helga stared into his face for a moment of suspenseful silence before minutely relaxing, finding something within him; a sign of some sort. Something telling her to let go.

"I just wanted to apologize. For keeping it a secret. Me being in Hillwood and staying with Phoebe and Gerald and everything, I mean," she waved a hand lamely to the side, as though spreading it over the situation with a summarizing sway, "I should have told you a long time ago, or should have at least sent you a letter or something. It's my fault, Arnold, and I'm sorry. I forced a promise out of both of our best friends, and willingly kept you in the dark for the sake of my own stupid pride."

She ducked her head to his sight, crystalline orbs glittering in the shadows of her face and bangs a shield from his gaze, "It's just...been on my mind lately. And I keep thinking about how much crap we've both been thrown into. And that…things might've been easier for the both of us, if I'd just said something. If I had given us the chance to make amends, then maybe things would have been different." She shrugged and chuckled wryly, allowing him to see her face again as slim hands combed back tangled strands of gold. Revealing the single line of moisture sliding down her cheek, tear dropping from her skin to fall to the table. Smearing the purple writing on her paper into a delicate swirl of color.

His eyes, solemn and serene as the ocean, calmly watched on, a half-smile encouraging her on. And, moistening his lips, he dug within himself to find the courage to ask what he had to. An echo of a conversation so long ago, but poignant within his mind, "Why'd you do it?"

"Pride," she chuckled at her own folly, only now looking back on the years of sorrow and hardship that could have been avoided if she had only allowed those she cared for to support and help her along the way, "I didn't want y—anyone thinking that I couldn't take care of myself. I got myself into the situation, and I was going to get myself out of it. I guess I was worried about how you would look at me after that. After I had managed to be stupid enough to get myself into such a crapload of…whatever," she blushed slightly, then shrugged nonchalantly, as though her words weren't turning his world on its head.

She worried that he would look down on her, because of the cruelty of her husband? How could she think such a thing? The knowledge that his opinion meant that much to her made him reel, and for a moment he was back on the rooftop of FTi.

"And I wanted to prove something, I guess. That I wasn't some damsel in distress that needed saving. Pedestals are kind of a pain to climb up and down from."

"But everything made you stronger."

"Yes, but I was more alone than ever before," she pointed out calmly, arm resting over the back of the kitchen chair, "Even when I was a kid and Bob and Miriam only ever saw me as a 'Little Olga,' I had more companionship," she rolled her eyes at her own immature pettiness and jealousy, "I had you," she paused for less than a second, wetting her lips, before smoothly continuing, "and Phoebe, and even Tall Hair Boy. I had Simmons, and Bliss, and even Brainy's stalkerish tendencies as a constant. It's really weird, looking back on your childhood and realizing how much you actually had. Perspective is a bit strange that way, eh Arnoldo?"

"I know exactly what you mean," the wry humor in his voice couldn't entirely mask the sadness in his eyes, and for a moment they remained in understanding silence.

"What was she like?" voice a wistful whisper, Helga turned to face the small portrait of the dark haired woman on the wall. For a second he gritted his teeth, pain coursing through his heart. Just as swiftly, it faded into the melancholy loneliness that always followed; a wistful sadness that lingered bittersweetly, carrying the scent of his wife's hair on his pillow and her laughter in the halls, coloring them with light.

"I'd rather not—," he began.

"Just spit it out, football head. It hurts less if you…if you talk about it," the statement, rough and hard at the first, petered off into understanding softness. Hiding her own constricted feelings, she rose automatically to fetch herself a drink. Acting without thought, she picked the correct cupboard with unerring precision, finding the ceramic mug with a single try and proceeding to fill it with water from the tap.

He marveled at this for a moment before rising himself to stir the noodles, still silent.

"Never mind, you don't have to say anything if you don't want to," the words were emotionless as she once again returned to their task, "So. I was thinking that we could always have some sort of contest or something, where the winner gets a bag of prizes that represent the different cultures. Or maybe they could have a few little games at each of the booths. Would that be too much for the people manning them, though? It might be a little overwhelming. Maybe everyone should get a few party favors no matter what. Or we could—."

"Helga, you're babbling," the words were soft, kind, as Arnold once again returned to the table, his own hands grasping a cup of hot chocolate. He smiled softly at her, "and you know what, you're right. It's easier if I talk about it."

She let out a sigh she didn't know she'd been holding. The two of them sat silently, cradling their drinks between them as she watched his mind slowly roll back. Green eyes misting with thought, he finally began, words no louder than a whisper.

"She and I met in college. She was this…utterly brilliant Art student-slash-English student, and I was just some dumb kid that wanted to help people. That's all I knew about what I wanted to do," he shrugged and smiled lightly at his own folly. And in that same moment Helga smiled with him, her single brow raised in a softer expression than any he'd ever seen her wear before.

"Yeah, you always were a Do-Gooder. Always trying to but into people's lives and makes some sort of a difference," she smirked good-naturedly, leaning her chair back on its legs as he merely rolled his eyes.

"_Thanks_, Helga."

"No problem. Always willing to help," a cheeky smile settled into an expectant, shrug, "But it's not like that's a bad thing. Some days, all that kept me going was your stupid 'Bright Side of Things.'"

He chuckled despite himself, grinning in the dim kitchen light, "I don't know whether to feel insulted or complimented."

"From me," she paused, tossing her thumb to her chest, "that's a compliment. Go on, Arnoldo."

"Anyway," he rolled his eyes, but continued nonetheless, comforted in their comfortable camaraderie. Monday morning they would probably meet once again as strangers, or old acquaintances that say hello in the halls, but never talk. But tonight they were connected, tonight there was a ceasefire, "we sort of ran into each other—literally. I guess you could say it's a habit of mine, running into beautiful women," he wiggled his eyebrows humorously but the blonde woman blushed nonetheless, a fact that caught his interest, "and before I knew it we were doing things together. College projects, um, free concerts in the park. No one else would go with us, so we went together and had a blast. It was just…_fun_," he shrugged thoughtfully in his chair, arms rising once more to rest behind his head, "We were 'Just Friends' for a really long time, before she ever asked me out."

"_She_ asked _you_ out?" the bark of laughter said it all, and he fought back on the urge to join in, despite the fact that her humor was at his expense.

"Yeah," he muttered, "Susan just kind of sat me down and said, 'You're really dense, you know that? I've been trying to get your attention for weeks, and all you do is smile that stupid smile of yours.'"

"She sounds like a woman I would have liked," the words rolled out of Helga's mouth before she could contain them.

He paused, surprised, then began nodding as his mind shuffled through the memories, "actually, yeah, you would've gotten along great. She always kinda reminded me of you, especially at first. I think some of why I spent so much time with her at first was because she told me like it was, the way you do. But then there were those things that were totally different. And around her there was always that same feeling of…calm. Like I could be who I was around her, the way you and I used to talk."

"Really…" her words were a bittersweet whisper in the dim room, the tempo of her voice a counterpoint to the water boiling on the stove. The football headed man rose to stir the pot once more, before lowering the heat and removing a strainer from a cupboard.

"Well, eventually she became a children's book author, focusing on English over Art, and I went on to get my Teaching Degree in Elementary Education. I got up the courage to ask her to marry me, and Elena was born a little later."

"What made you decide to become a teacher?" she asked distractedly, her mind turning toward the papers in front of her as a sanctuary from her own self-inflicted pain. _If we have the Hanukah booth across from the Christmas booth, and then place Kwanza on the left…_

"Mr. Simmons, actually."

Her head whipped around to face him, jaw dropping in a full-out stare, "_Mr. Simmons_, who always wanted us to do our most 'Special' best?! _That_ Mr. Simmons?"

"The one and only," he grinned unrepentantly, glorying in the moment of her complete and utter surprise, "it was just that after years of watching him I finally realized how much he cared for each one of us, despite our lack of respect towards him. And it made me realize that…sometimes it's the _effort_ that really matters. How others chose to act is _their_ decision, but I'm held responsible for what I do. And I'd rather make the world a better place. So I chose teaching, so I could let each and every child I come into contact with know that someone cares for them, at least a little bit. So they wouldn't feel like me, ever."

She nodded thoughtfully to herself, mind wrapping around every occasion the teacher had gone out of his way to help her, despite her rebuffs. There had been the kindness and attention he'd bestowed upon her in regards to her poetry, sharing it with the class tactfully while carefully withholding her identity. And then his deep concern for her wellbeing had played a part in his recommendation that she see Dr. Bliss. There were numberless other occasions that he had come upon her in a stupor of anger or sadness with a book, or a kind word. Always there to see one of his favorite students through her hardships the best he could. He loved teaching, but more importantly, he loved his students.

"And it was so that they wouldn't ever feel like _you_, either, raised like you were."

Caught within her own thoughts, she phased out the words. Then, just as swiftly, her mind processed what had been said. When she turned to look at him Arnold had his back towards her, and for a second she almost believed the words had been born within her mind. A fictional phrase created by a starving spirit. Until he happened to look over his shoulder, meeting her eyes for one bare second as his face flushed a light pink.

"Thanks, Arnold," the shell cracked once more as she bestowed upon him another simple, sweet smile.

"You're welcome, Helga."

He drained the noodles and placed them in a covered bowl to stay warm before returning to the table, watching her hand glide across the page for a moment before saying anything.

"So…booths?"

"I figured this would be best," the map and its subsequent key were shared without thought or pause, her hand lightly brushing his before withdrawing, "we spread things out a little, have a bit of a lamp or spotlight at each one, and then just let the ambient light take care of the rest."

"Good idea. And I figure that if we just make the stars on the walls out of tin-foil around cardboard we should save a little more money than if we buy pre-cut stuff."

"We could always get the kids to do that part," the single mother offered casually, bouncing her long blonde ponytail over one shoulder absently.

"Queen of Delegating, are we?" the young father teased her softly, eyes half-lidded and curling upward with his smile. Years of positive thinking had produced a series of crinkles around each of his eyes, a testament to the mirth that had always been a part of his life, regardless of the pain that had always remained. She blushed once more as she pulled her mind again away.

"Well, it'll be faster than having _us_ do all the work, and you already suggested we get them to help," her shrug eloquently summed up the situation.

They continued on, focusing on refining their plans further and further until they had only to assign responsibilities left. Left to their individual thoughts, Arnold's mind twisted around to face something she'd said earlier in the evening. Or, more something she hadn't said.

"Why don't you ever talk about Jonah's father?"

Shock shone on her face combined with slight irritated resentment, "That's different. And what's with the sudden subject change, Bucko? Crimeny."

"Different how?" ignoring her sudden reversal to old habits, his voice was wryly pointed, taking a moment to tease her back after her own thorough bombarding of him previously, "Does it not fall under the category of _'spit it out, it hurts less if you talk about it'_, then?"

"Touche'," she smirked despite herself, arms crossing.

"I thought it was appropriate," he smiled lightly, tracing the lines on his paper with such a focus that Helga could almost believe secrets could be found within them, if he just managed to find the right pattern, "besides, while you apologized for keeping me out of the loop, you never actually said what happened, Helga."

She paused, folding her hands together in front of her as her mind was wrapped up in memories she'd long tried to forget. Skimming over details in order to not send herself into a PTSD attack, the disorder many times superimposing reality with the past, she searched for the right words to say.

"He was physically abusive, Arnold. And I dealt with it, because I knew that if I didn't take the blows, he'd turn on Jonah," she threw it out matter-of-factly, knowing with completely certainty that Elliot would have done exactly that. So she had dealt with it as best she could, even as her own strength had been torn down day by day.

"What?" the mirth disappeared in a single moment from his face and form, body tensing as he once again remembered a conversation from a few weeks previous. Gerald's words echoed within his mind, _'But I saw the bruises, and that was enough,'_ "he'd hit a _child?_"

"He didn't find hitting a woman a problem, why not a child?" she faced Arnold dead-on with a nonchalant shrug that couldn't hide the bitterness in her voice. She turned to stare at her nails, delicate and refined, anything to ground her.

"Well, when he b-b…hurt me enough to send me into the hospital. I took that as much chance to get away. With both of my arms were broken, I was pretty staunch evidence of his tendency toward violence," she fingered her upper arms, bones aching in memory of old pain, "So I got him convicted, to protect Jonah and I. And then when I divorced the donut hole I took most of his assets, and used it to pay my way through school. A long, long process, but it's brought me where I'm at now. It's in the past, and we're doing great now. We're okay."

"I will never hit you, Helga. And I will never let anyone else hit you again. I promise."

Shocked at the firm strength of his words, she glanced up to meet eyes like jade. Sitting across from her, the single father, the widower had been replaced with a warrior. Strong in his convictions, and willing to sacrifice his own life if it meant that those he cared for were safe. The thorns around her heart were stripped away in a single moment and, for a second in time, her defenses were obliterated.

"Thank you, Arnold."

His eyes softened, but within them she could see the oath burning brightly. They continued on as though nothing had been said, but it hung between them with a shining promise that couldn't dim despite talk of everyday measures and plans. And like the locket she'd once prized above all else, she held his words tightly to her heart; a memory frozen in time.

"So we've got Harold and Patty on the Hanukah, Phoebe and Gerald for the Japanese version of Christmas or maybe a winter Buddhist/Shinto festival, Timberly and Eugene are back in town—they can take care of Kwanza. Sheena can make Tofurky, Brainy could work on a sign saying 'Happy Holidays' in sign language, and Cecille—she married Peapod kid—could man a booth for the French-slash-European traditions regarding Christmas."

"It's like we're planning a class reunion, or something," she remarked wryly as she continued writing on in purple pen.

"Well," he shrugged, "in case you haven't noticed, a lot of the students that go to PS118 are the kids of the people who grew up with. So it's not like it's a big surprise."

"Actually, yeah, I did notice that," she chuckled wryly and nodded, passing her old victim a slight smile, "Bergman, Johansson, Peterson, Gamelthorpe-Lloyd. The list goes on and on, from Brainy-the-Professional-Stalker to Little Miss Perfect."

He laughed despite himself at the descriptions, "who are you talking about?"

"Lila, and her kid, Dennis," shaking her head slightly, she leaned back to fold her arms as she once again became lost in thought, "Man, seeing him in the hall at school about gave me a heart attack. He's got his dad's nose, though, poor boy."

"No kidding," one eye-roll later, they had both returned to brainstorming.

"So, any suggestions for the lighting? We could always get a strobe light, but that might cause problems with anyone that's got problems with epilepsy. Black lights would be a problem, too," seriously pondering the situation, her long bangs returned once again to curtain part of her face, covering one entire eye with golden curls. Fighting the urge to tuck the appealing tress back, Arnold cleared his throat and looked away. Only for his eyes to land upon an old photo.

"I think I have an idea," grinning, the football-headed man retrieved the picture and brought it back to show his companion. The old image showed his grandparents, slightly less wrinkled and dressed to the nines in their best outfits. Above them shone the glow of a disco ball, classic for parties, "when they died I had to go through a lot of their stuff, to make room for more boarders. If I remember right, they still have that disco ball. So if we wanted to, we could borrow some lights from the drama department, and then-."

"—Reflect the light off of it!" Helga finished for him, grinning even as she mentally sketched the scene out, "and those reflective stars will make everything glitter even more."

"Absolutely perfect, Arnold," she beamed at him and wrapped up in the kitchen light, he met the look with one of his own. Minutes passed pleasantly without notice, a warmth slowly burning in their hearts, before they realized what they were doing and broke the moment with deliberate movement. She turned to straighten the pile of papers they were going through, even as he stood to check on the food.

Her eyes fell upon the photo he'd been referring to, and realization abruptly hit once more. She bit at her lower lip as she tried to find the right way to broach the subject, "I'm…I'm sorry to hear about your Grandparents, by the way, Arnold."

He stiffened momentarily, and immediately she cursed herself for her thoughtlessness. There they were, comfortably talking with one another, and she just had to go and destroy the mood with talk of those he'd lost.

"Look, I'm sorry for bringing it up, I just—."

He shook his head slightly as he once again returned, setting several hot-pads down on the table to protect the Formica surface. It was several more minutes before he met her eyes, his own green ones heavy with an old sadness, "it's okay. I just…miss them, that's all. But thank you for your condolences, anyway. It was a while ago."

Hating herself, her voice lowered as she couldn't help asking one last question, "what happened? I only just found out about it from Dr. Bli—Harmony, and no one will talk about it."

He swallowed slowly, then once again lifted his eyes up to meet hers, holding them as tears were held tightly in check, "they, um…" he tiredly rubbed at the side of his face, "it was a few months before Susan got sick. We got a letter, from an old friend of my parents. Eduardo, I think it was. He…he'd found their graves, in the forest of San Lorenzo."

"Oh, Arnold," her words fell to a whisper as anguished understanding suddenly gripped her.

"I'm fine. It's okay," he shrugged slightly, shoulders hunching against the grief he was stoically bearing, "Grandma was the first to…fail. She just, stopped living life. Not the way most people do, but the way we know her to live life, I mean. She actually called me by name," the word was punctuated with an ironic shake of his head, wry smile on his lips, "the one time I wished she would call me 'Kimba', I get my real name."

"Anyway," he continued, once again in control of his emotions, "she passed away, and it wasn't long until Grandpa passed away. She was his life pretty much from the time they were kids and picked on one another, right up until the very end. One night he just…fell asleep, and then didn't wake up again. We found him with a smile on his face and a bowl of raspberries by his bed," the blonde man choked out a laugh, "it figures, doesn't it? Wait, you didn't…sorry, I forget that you didn't really know…"

"I knew him _enough_, hair-boy, I knew him enough," she smiled wryly and tossed her hair over one shoulder, "so, when did you take over the Boardinghouse?"

"Right after they got the news," he shrugged, "it was the least I could do, and it was closer to the school anyway. I took a sabbatical, though, to take care of Grandma and Grandpa, and then later Susan. She was able to work from home, even after she got sick. Things just worked out that way. And it was nice not having to worry about rent."

"No kidding," laughing shortly. Minutes passed and her face slowly lost all mirth as her mind turned the information over. Sighing, she finally found the courage to ask him one last question.

"Have you ever talked to anyone about this, Arnold? I mean, you probably talked about Susan, but what about the loss of your Grandparents? They passed away right before she got sick, so you probably really didn't get to mourn. And they practically raised you, so it's like...if I lost Jonah, or something. Did you talk to a therapist at all or…or anyone?" her words were as earnest as her face, wall of awkward diffidence lost in her concern for him. The barriers dropped between former bully and victim, understanding bridging the gap created by loss and sorrow.

"Only Susan."

"_Arnold_," shaking her head slightly, she moved to rest her hand on his. He allowed it for a few seconds before moving to lower the heat for the sauce. She was left with the lingering warmth of his skin under hers, before the silence was broken with swift knocking at the door.

"I'll get it. Just one second, Helga."

"Okay, Football head."

The door was summarily opened to reveal her son, thoroughly drenched and completely enthusiastic. Arnold motioned him in happily, as though it was his own son he was welcoming home, "Hey there, Jonah. Just in time for dinner! You wanna give me your coat?"

Dinner passed quickly. The boarders had all been, surprisingly, asked to eat elsewhere for the night, so that the two adults could work on their project without interruption. Which left only the four of them together, looking so much like a family it made Helga's heart ache. Afterwards they were left with only small talk and hot chocolate, their children running upstairs to spend as much time together as possible, before the clock struck nine, and it was almost time to go. Turning on the table with precise perfectionism, she began tidying up even as her companion started on the dishes. Finally garnering up enough courage to speak, Helga broke the silence once last time.

"This was…nice. We should do it again sometime."

"What?" he scoffed automatically, smiling even as his eyes took a sarcastic roll "work on a project under threat of Principal Molte, both our jobs hanging on the line? I'd rather avoid another situation like this, thanks."

"That wasn't what I meant," she allowed a touch of impatience colored her words, then forcibly softened them, "I mean, just…talking. We should get together and talk sometimes. Catch up on things."

He stilled in his ministrations, drenched up to his elbows in sudsy water. Turning to look at him, she caught a bemused expression before it disappeared, "yeah. We definitely should."

A companionable silence passed between the two as she cleaned up the table and all their work, and he took care of the dishes. Just as she felt like the quiet was becoming a little awkward, he spoke.

"So, I've been meaning to ask you. Why did you defend me? Back there, at the meeting, I mean. You didn't have to put yourself on the line like that—you could have lost your job," he turned his body to face hers as he waited for her answer, eyes roving over her expression with a mix of curiosity and confusion.

Her mind hit a brick wall, and instantly all previous thought was lost, "what do you mean, why did I do it? I just did it, that's all."

He rolled his eyes and smiled wryly, turning to lean one elbow on the edge of the sink, "Helga, you could have lost your job, standing up like that to her. And you know it. So why did you do it?"

Memory once again flashed through her mind as his words echoed ones he'd spoken once before, only in a higher octave. Treading carefully, she came to the decision to be truthful, at least in part.

"Well…I didn't think it was fair," her blue eyes met his over their mutual messes, and in that second he lost his smile, and any sarcasm with it. He could tell she was being serious, and he would match it with equal seriousness, "that she singled you out for punishment. Especially when you hadn't done anything wrong. And, well," a smirk appeared despite herself, "I couldn't see the strong, 'Mr. Nice Guy' Arnold Babcock get torn down. Anymore than I could watch bullies beat you up on the playground."

His expression turned wry once again, as he arched an ironic brow, "because I was _your_ victim?"

"Precisely," she grinned girlishly, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a deft flip, "territory and all that."

"But," his solemn turn stopped her humor cold, and slowly she turned to face the love of her youth. He had returned to scrubbing, hands once again drowning in soapy water and shoulders slumped with inner exhaustion. He didn't look at her as he spoke, merely held the plate in his hand without seeing it, "what if I told I wasn't strong. And that I haven't been for a long time. My story isn't such a tragic one—yours tops mine in a heartbeat. It's just that I…I feel so…"

Turning without a word, she rose to her feet and stood beside him before daring to wrap one arm around his shoulder. More contact, kisses excluded, than she given him their entire lives.

"I know," her words were whispers in the wind, falling to the ground like winter leaves. He refused to meet her eyes as he slowly let go of the dish, moisture filling his expressive green ones.

"I just feel so _tired_. It was no problem when Susan was here, but now…"

"It feels like the world is falling down about your ears," she finished for the blonde man, before wrapping her arms around him in a hug. The first hug _she'd_ ever initiated between the two of them. She slowly rubbed his shoulder as he ducked his head into her neck, silent, slight tears falling upon her skin like rain. A rain that was echoed by the light pattering on the roof and window, droplets streaming down the glass in delicate rivers.

Sighing at her own self-torture, she patted him lightly to indicate that he needed to let go, then, once he was facing her, gave him a sympathetic smile, "Arnold, everything will be okay. It's going to be hard for a while, but eventually everything will be all right. Elena's growing up wonderfully, and you're a great father and teacher. Don't give up hope, okay? Football head?"

A laugh broke through his remorse, and he nodded, red-rimmed eyes meeting hers once again as he finally smiled through the sadness. Becoming for a second the boy she'd once known, the one who always looked on the bright side of things. Mr. Sunny Side Up.

"Thanks Helga. You always give me the courage to go on. Just like when we were kids," he chuckled lightly, remembering several instances off the top of his head, "and for what it's worth, thank you for defending me. I'm Molte's whipping boy, and that was the first time anyone tried to take the blow for me."

"It was no problem," patting his shoulder one last time, she moved away to stack the notes they'd created and he resumed dishwashing.

Minutes later everything was finished and Helga was pulling on her coat. Jonah had been shouted for, and was scrambling upstairs to pull everything together. Leaving the two parents in silent companionship, waiting at the door.

Helga fiddled with her purse straps, looking everywhere but at her host. And Arnold couldn't help the blush that overcame his face as the thought, unbidden, came to his mind how pretty his old bully looked, dressed in a light pink sweater with damp curls escaping her loose ponytail to frame her face.

He cleared his throat without meaning to, and she looked up in surprise. The blonde man colored further, but took his action as an opportunity to speak.

"Um, Helga, I was wondering…"

"Yes?"

"…if you wanted to do something next Friday. I have some tickets for—."

"Yes."

He stuttered to a stop, blinking in surprise. Her expression had cleared of all anxiety, and was beaming quietly up at him, blue eyes shining as they met his. His own green fell open in surprise, mouth echoing his shock with its own cavern-like opening, "What?"

"Yes."

"_Really?_"

"What, did I stutter, Football Head?" the words themselves were good old harsh Helga, but the tone was gloriously soft, and, crossing her arms over her chest, she bestowed upon him a smile so sweet he knew he'd only seen it once before—in his dreams, "I said yes."

"Great!" speaking louder than he'd intended to, his face was enveloped once again in red heat. He ducked his shoulders in embarrassment, then slowly smiled again, "I mean, that's great. So, the play starts at seven, so…"

"I'll meet you here at six or six thirty, no problem."

Just at that moment their two children came bounding down the stairs, Jonah's raincoat draping his tiny form and Elena dragging his backpack haphazardly down each steps. Both were caught up in their own conversation, which abruptly silenced as their eyes fell upon the duo silently waiting at the door.

They exchanged a grin and a double backslap, bump, hand-exchange that left the two adults sharing a bemused glance.

"Alright, let's get going. I want to get home and change into something a little less drenched," Helga motioned her son forward and out the door, where it was still raining.

"Wait!" his words stopped her once again, as they always had. And turning expectantly to him she found herself facing waterproof plastic, "here, take my umbrella. It probably won't help keep you from getting soaked, but…you never know."

A smile found its way to her face once again as she silently accepted the gift. Then reaching to draw her son close, she loosed Arnold's umbrella above them, its wings spread wide above them protectively. While, standing side by side in the boardinghouse doorway, both father and daughter exchanged the wave the Billings duo shot them, before she and Jonah finally climbed into her pearlized pink car.

"So, what exactly was that, Kiddo?" several streets from Arnold's place, Helga finally asked the question that had been on her mind since they'd left. Something about the two children's actions had been reminiscent of a memory,

"Our secret handshake. We made it up today," he munched on a carrot he'd brought out from his pocket, "and then we played Star Wars Monopoly and I was R2D2 and she was Leah. It was cool."

"Well," Helga chuckled, "I'm glad you had a fun time."

"Yeah," he was silent a moment before nodding, as though coming to a decision, "Elena's my best friend. And Mr. Arnold is nice. We should go over more often."

The blonde remained silent, turning down their street and to the old Pataki home. After all, what could she say to a statement like that? Jonah continued.

"He makes really good food."

The awkward moment passed as she turned to give her son a mock scowl, "wait just a second, are you saying that I'm not a good cook?"

"I didn't say that," a grin spread across his round face, splitting it so that for a second it did resemble a basketball.

"But you don't deny it, either."

"..." his monobrow rose as he smiled innocently, then rested his hand on his seatbelt buckle, ready to leap from the car as soon as she had parked.

"You are _so_ dead, Mister."

"Only if you can catch me!"

"Oh, yeah?"

The car rolled to a stop and they were both out in a flash, laughter battling the rainy skies as they chased each other to the warmth inside.

………………………………………………

**AN: **Holy Craptasticness, Batman! This is seriously the longest chapter ever: 17 pages. I beat my previous record, but I'm okay with that. Just as I'm okay with the time it took. I wanted to get this chapter right, with plenty of character and plot development. (Actually, there's a little _too much_ character and plot development, in my opinion, but it was needed.) At first this was really hard to write, but once I got the _last_ three pages written out in a burst of inspiration, I was able to create an outline of what I wanted to occur. And then inspiration slowly came.

(As soon as I was able to tear myself away from my growing obsession with _Doctor Who_. Ah, David Tennant, I love you and your Adorkable glasses. Although it was awfully difficult writing while watching the show—I kept hearing Arnold and Helga talking in British accents. Oo)

The funny thing is that I only got the tiniest bit of inspiration to write while I was in Montana visiting family, a time I imagined would be spent with me writing away till my fingers bled. And most of the inspiration was for chapter _thirteen_. That's irony for you. Well, at least I got plenty of doodles drawn, for my DA account. And I've got a head start on the next update.

I'm sorry if my curt responses recently have put people into thinking that I am angry with them. I'm truly not; I've just been caught in some _delightful_ mood swings lately that have caused chaos on my interactions with others. Especially at work. –Laughs wryly.—

I would, however, like to ask that those who review please do so with the thought in mind that I work better under constructive, positive comments, rather than reviews that are devoid of any helpful influence. It's a bit demoralizing to only be told what you've done wrong, and rarely what you do right.

Not that very many people do this. In fact, I've received some of my best responses recently, so no complaints there. I'm just making certain to avoid future altercations and misunderstandings on my part. Rawr. And all that jazz.

Thanks for reading. I hope you liked it.

(P.S. This chapter theme music was Clay Aiken's "Measure of a Man" CD. Now that there is some excellent mood music.)


	13. Chapter 13

Sunny Side Up

Sunny Side Up

By Shahrezad1

Summary: It's been years since the gang was together, and time's passed for everyone. As adults, can Arnold and Helga get past their pasts and finally see the bright side again? Rated for pranking.

Standard disclaimer applies. Don't own, just enjoy. End. Movie Quotes don't belong to me, either, nor candy brands. This was written for kicks and giggles.

This chapter is dedicated to my Mom, since I love her bundles and bundles.

Chapter 13

_"Helga, I've missed you," his hand was warm within hers as they stared out into the sunset, the world spread before them from their view on the Sunset Arms roof. Nestled between them their children slept on, curly light brown hair mixing with shaggy dark brown._

_She merely moved closer in answer, actions speaking far louder than her words ever had. Growing up, those self-same words had been both her self-entrapment as well as her freedom, allowing her to express her feelings even as she was tying herself up in her own deceit._

_But they were past that point. He knew she loved him without her having to say anything. And he was as devoted to her as he had ever been. They might fight and bicker and have rocky moments over the course of their relationship. But they always came back to one another, like magnets with opposite polarity. As different as they each were, it was as inevitable of a return as winter turning into spring._

"You know, you might actually have a chance at things turning out like this."

_At the words, the dream burst like a pleasant bubble. The sunset froze within its amber sky, and Arnold's mouth remained open; he'd been just about to speak. Looking like characters lost in fairy tales gone by, Jonah and Elena continued sleeping on, stasis falling upon them without notice._

_Helga frowned and shrugged herself free of Arnold's now-stiff embrace._

_"It's _you_ again."_

_The Voice took on a wry tone, _"I get the feeling you're not overly fond of me…"

_"I wonder what gave you _that_ idea?" was Helga's droll response, followed closely by the crossing of her arms. In the frozen scene laid before her Helga's hair remained long and wavy, sundress floating around her ankles from an unseen wind._

_The Voice continued on tiredly, as though making an uphill climb, _"all I'm here to say is that if you make the right choices, you could very well have things turn out this way. With just a little hope."

_"And who are you to make a promise like that?" Helga demanded bitterly, and in that second the illusion shattered completely. Her dreams disappearing even as she was once again in her pajamas, lost in the misty void of her thoughts._

_The Voice was silent for a moment, and in the silence Helga remained suspended for a time. When it did finally speak, the words were pointed enough to carry themselves into the waking day._

"Someone who knows how you feel,"_ a sigh, _"and I guess I should have expected this reaction—you're just as stubborn as him," _a laugh entered the Voice then, _"just as stubborn as I was. Say 'hi' to Mr. Goody Two Shoes for me, will you? And you have my permission."

_The blonde's face crinkled in confusion, irritation lost in the face of curiosity, "who _are_ you? And 'permission' for what?"_

"My _permission_. Lastly, be careful."

_"Why be careful?" the Voice's words baffled the dreamer and on the edges of her consciousness she could feel and see the sun beginning to pull her away, shining through her window and directly onto her face._

"Just be careful."

The Voice faded out with the morning light, but the message remained clear. _Be careful. You never know what's out there._

A second message floated to the surface right behind the first, and Helga blushed before moving to get ready for the day.

_You could have that. You could have happiness with Arnold._

_--_

She remained trapped in the waiting room for the school Therapist, hands flying across the keyboard as she systematically updated records for various students as well as a variety of memos that needed to be sent out, these imaginings and more on her mind.

All her dreams lately had seemed to hold the same theme—the possibility of a future with Arnold, and moreover, Elena. For the past week she'd been drenched in a deluge of information, encouragement, and even childish challenges. All from a mysterious Voice she could only half-recall upon waking. As though her subconscious was fighting against itself, debating and rethinking every decision she was to make. Including that of going out with her past victim and longtime crush.

"It's only a first date, for cheese' sake," she muttered to herself as her eyes went back over a spelling mistake, pounding a single index finger multiple times upon the board until it had been summarily deleted, then replaced with its correct alternative. Unnoticed, a small child waiting for his appointment to come up abruptly perked, then deliberately neutralized any expression of excitement he might have had.

The contents of her screen seemed to echo her words mockingly, the hula-dancing bobble figure sitting upon the metal cabinets behind her twitching minutely to the sound of her voice.

_It might be a first date,_ the dancer seemed to say, _but it's with the object of your devotion—the man you've loved since Preschool._

"Shaddup," she muttered quietly and continued with her work. Regardless, the task still couldn't completely distract herself from her thoughts. Unguarded and supposedly unseen by any but herself, they were free to run rampant in the silence of the office.

She typed faster. The red-haired boy's eyebrow rose an inch before dropping once more. He began swinging his legs back and forth.

After all, would it be so bad if something did happen between her and Arnold? They might have a past, but they were older; wiser. And then there was the time they'd spent together the week before, on their "Not a Date"—peace had been at least _partially_ made between them. Amid cooking and talking and reminiscing. And when Helga had told Bliss what had happened, she'd responded with a smile and an encouraging nod. That was progress, wasn't it?

And hadn't it been _him _who had asked _her_, rather than the other way around?

Her hand froze upon the keys, fingers stuck halfway through the word 'Schizophrenia' as all thought seemed to stop. Within her consciousness the light abruptly turned red; the cars of thought caught in the middle of the intersection that was her mind.

Because, with complete honesty, it all came back to that, just as her son had pointed out the night before. It came back to agency, _his _agency. _He_ had been the one to make the first step. _He_ had been the one to ask her. _He_ was ready to start something, and was willing to let her into his broken heart.

The ball was in her court now, and she had a choice to make. Would she continue on in the same fashion, keeping him at arm's length as she had with everyone else, or would she have the courage to let him into her heart the way he was risking his?

As if she wasn't stressed enough already.

And while she was busy drinking her second cup of 'Pity Me,' she might as well curse that ball, _and_ the court for that matter. And whatever brainless sports announcer who had come up with the phrase in reference to relationships. Honestly, if love was a sport you'd think her track record would be better by now. Sports she could handle; men were another matter.

Mason had been a flirt. Dan had only thought of her as a sister. Russ had stalked her for weeks after their first date. And D.J. was simply a bigoted jerk. After that her dating experiences had dwindled somewhat, game analogies lost to the wind.

And why shouldn't they have? After all, who wants to jump into the dating pool feet first when all they seemed to find was piranhas? And yet here she was, risking her heart again for the first time since her last painful learning experience.

The blonde mother grimaced at the candy dish sitting before her, popping one unwrapped piece of taffy into her mouth as memories swam across her screen.

They'd met at a Publishing Firm, him working in the proofreading department, and she'd been a secretary. They'd lasted three months. At which point he'd stormed out on her during their last dinner date, his words lasting longer within her memory than they had existed in the air, statement pointed and quick.

"_You keep pushing people away, afraid you'll get hurt,"_ Tyler had whispered sharply, throwing his cloth napkin on the table before turning to retrieve his coat, _"I hope to high heaven you let someone in someday, or you'll die of a broken heart. And I might love you, but I won't let my heart be broken by yours."_

He'd come back once to make his goodbyes to Jonah, but that had been it. Like every other man in her life, he'd left, and her son hadn't said a thing about the again-empty seat at their dinner table.

At the time she'd told herself that it was okay; that it would just be the two of them again, as it always had been and always would be. But she'd never forgotten her son's face as he'd gone off to play basketball alone. He'd been eight at the time.

So here they were once again, the both of them risking themselves. But she feared they were already both lost to the fates; two Billings killed neatly with one weighty stone.

She rose to place the now-finished folder in its alphabetical place behind her and, as the tall woman snapped the filing cabinet closed, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the metal. She looked pale and light-lipped; anxious. And her hair needed to be washed again—it hung limp against her neck as though it, too, was exhausted with all her second-guessing.

Because it wasn't just her heart she was risking, she had realized long ago. Jonah needed a father figure just as much as she needed someone to love, and to be loved by. They were a team, the two of them, and whether she had a hand in it or no Jonah had already decided who he wished was the third team member (as well as fourth, including Elena). But how could she promise him anything when she had no idea if a relationship between the two of them would even work?

Like a movie rewinding, the final scene of her decision (on whether to go, or to bail) played through her mind as she returned once again to the keyboard.

"_You know, Arnold's a lot shorter than my dad was," Jonah had remarked only a day before, throwing his ball into the air and attempting to spin it before it once again bowed to gravity, his back pressed to his mother's bedspread and rear placed firmly on the floor. _

_She'd frozen before her full-length mirror in response to his words, a dress in either hand as she watched her son's reflection, "yes, he's definitely the regular 'Shortman,' as his grandpa used to call him."_

_The boy paused in his playing, one half of his family monobrow rising, "his grandpa called him that?"_

"_Yep, when we were kids I was taller than him for a long time, and Uncle Geraldo practically towered over Arnold until he hit his growth spurt."_

"_That's kinda cool. Especially since he's taller than you, now," the boy had responded gleefully, before nodding to himself, "I wish Grandpa would call _me_ something like that. All he's calls me is 'Jacob,' and 'Get In Here, Boy!'"_

"_Yeah, Bob's always had a way with words," Helga muttered before tossing him a mock scowl, trying with all her might to ignore the butterflies that had been trying to break free from her stomach all week long, "and watch it, bucko. It's two inches, maybe three between us. What's with all abandonment lately, anyway? I thought you were in _my_ camp for this war."_

"_Boys against girls," Jonah had shrugged, "and anyway, he's not that short anymore. Just shorter than my dad was."_

"_Yes, he is. And I'll have to let Elena know about that new rule," the blonde muttered noncommittally, "so, which one do you think I should wear tomorrow night? Black or blue?" Each of the hangers was held up before the mirror for the boy's perusal. He'd sat thoughtfully, chewing the inside of his mouth before firmly nodding._

"_The blue. It's warmer, and I heard that it would maybe snow," the boy's ball was once again twirling in the air, "do you think they'll close down the school next week?"_

"_I doubt it," was her dead-pan mutter, "and 'warm' isn't exactly the answer I was looking for, you know?"_

_The boy huffed out a breath in exasperation, rising from his perch on the floor only to lay out on his mother's bed, head hanging over the edge so that Jonah's dark hair stuck straight out, "_fine_. The blue one 'cause it matches your eyes, and so you'll be warm. And it'll cover up your sca—."_

_The boy had frozen, ball sliding from his hands and dropping to the floor. In the mirror Helga was stricken, all color bleached from her skin. The child had immediately rolled off the bed, scrambling across the floor to his mother's side._

"_Look, I'm sorry! _Really_ sorry. I didn't mean to--."_

"_No, it's okay kiddo," the blonde woman fell to her knees, wrapping an arm around him. He held back a sniffle manfully, and she brushed back his bands with her long, slim fingers. Strong and scarred, just as he would always remember them._

"_It's all right, Jonah. You were just watching out for me," she'd paused, smiling, before diving down without warning to blow a raspberry on the skin of his neck, creating a fart-like noise. She'd broken the awkward moment with a single fell swoop, her actions telling Jonah without words that everything was well between them._

"_Ack! Mom, stop!"_

"_My knight in shining armor!" she'd attacked him further, hands at work tickling his ribs, "Always watching out for me," he squealed as her gleeful fingers found the ticklish spot just above his knee, "and making sure I don't run into any dead-beats!"_

"Arnold's not a deadbeat!"_ The statement, shouted out amid uncontrollable laughter, stilled her hands and for a second he was given a reprieve._

"_What?"_

"_Mr. Arnold's not a deadbeat, Mom," Jonah had huffed out, gasping for air from within his mother's embrace, "he's not like _my dad_ was. He's a _good_ guy."_

"_Jonah…"_

"_He's a great dad," the boy had continued as though uninterrupted, earnestly looking at Helga with his large grey eyes, "and I know you _like_, like him."_

"_Him being a good dad doesn't necessarily mean he should be _your_—wait, you wanna repeat that?" the words tumbling from her mouth had stuttered to a stop as she'd glowered at her boy, dark brown hair tussled and skin gleaming amber in the fluorescent lighting._

"_Er…I love you?"_

_A patented 'Mom' frown overtook her features, disappointment exuding from every pore, "that isn't what you said, Jonah."_

"_It isn't my fault, Mom. It was an _accident_," the dark-haired child had stated defensively, pausing before muttering quietly to himself, "and it's not like you even keep your closet locked."_

_Ice water filled her veins and once more she was Helga G. Pataki, cold and furious. The red haze cleared enough for her to realize that it wasn't an old foe she was dealing with, but rather her son, and in a deadly whisper (rather than the bellow fighting to be free from her throat), she said, _"you went through my things."

_It was a statement rather than a question, and immediately Jonah realized he'd gone too far. He scooted back on his haunches only to mutter an apology._

_Helga rose to sit on her bed, counting slowly to ten as she forced her fist to remain unclenched. She could get angry, she could yell, but she would never be like her Ex-Husband, using her fist for anything other than the protection of those in need, "why did you do it, Jonah?"_

"_I just…I," the boy swallowed harshly, closer to tears now than he'd been after his first mistake, "I overheard you talking to yourself. While I was in the attic, looking around. And then when I came to talk to you, I found the scrapbook in your closet."_

_The youth had waited with bated breath, thinking that while he hadn't told the complete truth, he still hadn't exactly lied. Just stretched the truth a bit. Meanwhile Helga was pondering what kind of lock would work best with the handle on her closet door._

"_I am _very_ disappointed in you," the young mother finally said, blue eyes now calm and expressionless, her hands a study of delicate serenity, "and you're grounded for a week. From friends and activities, the internet, and playing videogames and basketball. I won't ground you from the television or reading books, since you told me what you did. But that doesn't change the fact that you invaded my privacy in a way that hurts my feelings," she allowed herself to tear up then, thanking her college drama class as the boy wilted in guilt, "but I do forgive you. Eventually. Maybe. Only if you watch another of my favorite movies with me."_

_Realizing he's been played, the boy groaned and fell to the floor, his ball resting on the carpet beside his head, "a week! Ah, _man!_"_

"_Well it serves you right, Kiddo," Helga had hopped up to mess his hair further, then grabbed her pajamas, tossing the chosen dress aside as she headed for the bathroom, "now, I've got to go get ready for bed. You better be outta here by the time I'm done. You hear me, shortstuff?"_

"_Yes, mom," was the sing-song reply._

"_Good."_

"_Hey, Mom!"_

_Leaning against the bathroom doorframe, the woman, once long ago the Terror of PS118, sighed in loving exasperation, "make it short, J-Man. I've still got to get my lunch for tomorrow ready after I'm done."_

_His nut-brown head had poked out into the doorway, the ten year-old still lying with his back to the carpet, "I still think Mr. Arnold would be a cool dad. And you _like_, like him."_

"_There's two sides to every coin there, bucko. He kinda has to 'like, like' me back for anything to happen," she'd responded with a dry smile, arms folded._

"_Didn't _he_ ask _you_ out?"_

She'd shut the door in the face of his response, but it had stuck. Along with all her crazy weird 'What-If' dreams and her own speculations.

The blonde secretary bowed her head, long ponytail resting against one lavender-clad shoulder, and began typing furiously even as Dennis slid from the room to share his observations. Caught in her own thoughts, she never noticed that he hadn't had an appointment set up to begin with.

--

The week had been a long one.

Ever since he'd thrown down the proverbial gauntlet it'd seemed like what little peace that had existed between them was now tentative at best. Teasing words were often construed as insults in order to hide their own shaky feelings, causing a slew of offense followed by heartfelt apologies on both sides. And trailing behind it all came the accursed _awkwardness._ The same awkwardness that came with asking your old bully out on a date.

They truly had no idea how to act around one another. Especially when, as coworkers as well as fellow parents, they ran into each other multiple times each day. Just like when they were kids, when placed with a situation she didn't know how to cope with, Helga had put barriers up. And he, not understanding what he had done wrong, would spend each day confused and hurt. Until she would finally come back, with a smile on her face.

He was slowly realizing how much of Helga's personality was made up of careful barriers. Combined with that knowledge was the understanding that if he could just manage to stick out her thorny days, then he'd inevitably find himself in a rosy situation. And that simple knowledge made the week bearable. It gave him the strength to tolerate both her uncertain mood swings as well as his own surprising outbursts.

Such as the desire to randomly pull Helga, his daughter, or really any random bystander up in a swinging hug. He's lost control once before, Wednesday evening, in an incident involving Phoebe and a very ticked-off Gerald.

He had merely been stopping by to allow his daughter play with theirs' and, in the process, begged a set of tickets off of his friend. Tickets the taller man had been saving for an evening out with his wife, now that he was back from his trip. Tickets the man's wife had literally shoved into Arnold's hand, much to his best friend's somewhat offended surprise. She'd promised to make it up to Gerald later, which had mollified the tall-haired sportscaster, only to see Arnold swing Phoebe around with joy and gratitude. Earning Gerald's ire back once more.

They were still on shaky ground. Somehow he knew Phoebe would straighten the situation out, though.

Amid everything, chaos included, the work for the Social had continued onward. The duo's ideas had been accepted by Molte with only a little tweaking. Such as suggestions for cost-efficient alternatives regarding materials, and plans for the decorations use, post-Social. Everything really was coming together. And, when they could put their awkwardness aside, he and Helga really were quite a team. Just as they had always been, on every project they had ever worked on.

Now, if they could manage to get along long enough to plan the biggest activity of the year together, maybe they could also get along for a single date. No stuttering, no awkwardness.

His mind bounced from question to question, hoping despite himself for at least a friendship between the two of them. And maybe more. Maybe even a relationship like he'd had with Susan.

And then there was, of course, the biggest question of all…

_Pink or blue?_

"Blue. And wear the black shirt, not the white one."

"What?" Arnold whirled around to face his daughter, her form casual in his doorway. He frowned and pulled the dark button-up from his closet, before holding it up in front of the mirror, "really? The black one? Won't that kind of…clash or something? Since I'll be wearing black slacks, I mean."

The girl rolled her eyes and moved forward, tossing his pink tie, one of the two he owned, back into his closet. Her father bit back a word of warning as the silk fell with a thump, holding back any irritation he felt in favor of reminding himself to pick it up later.

"Where have _you_ been? Black on black is _hot_. Especially for dates and interviews," she motioned for her father to switch shirts and he dutifully removed the white dress shirt, revealing his usual plain T-shirt underneath. Even as he was marveling at her word choice. _Hot. She's only in fourth grade, and she's already using the word 'Hot.'_

"A white one just makes you look like a Dad."

"But I _am_ a Dad."

"And Miss Helga's a Mom," the tiny girl continued, tugging the shirt he now wore straight, and motioning him to crouch as she began buttoning it up in an exasperated, motherly fashion, "but she's not gonna want you to think of her like she's Jonah's mom. She wants you to see her like she's pretty."

The words fell from his mouth like pearls; glowing, involuntary truths, "she _is_ pretty."

The girl paused in her ministrations, hands caught in the middle of expertly folding his tie, "Then you gotta tell her that, or she'll think she's not. Girls need to hear boys say it, or they won't believe it."

The football-headed man bit back a smile, "really? I'll have to bear that in mind," he paused, before tentatively pushing on. His daughter seemed to be in a good mood, although with Elena's new temperament he never knew. But if she was willing to talk, then the least he could do was talk back, and hope for an answer rather than outburst.

"You mind telling me where all this newfound knowledge came from?"

"Mere—_Gillian_ told me."

"Really?" his eyebrows shot up, "she told you I would look 'hot' wearing 'black on black,' and that girls like to be told they're pretty?"

"No_ Dad_," she side-stepped the question neatly with a huff, "I already knew that girls like to hear that. I _am_ one, in case you didn't notice."

"I noticed," he remarked wryly, distinctly remembering just how many diapers he had to change when she was small, "And I think you're a very pretty girl, and my favorite one in all the world."

He planted a kiss on her cheek, which cleared her frown faster than candy, "thanks for the help, by the way. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Welcome."

She moved to the door, utterly silent, much to his disappointment. He assumed that was, regrettably, the end of the conversation, and sighing returned to his mirror. Straightening the tie his daughter had made.

In the months following her mother's death, there had been responsibilities Elena had automatically picked up on, recognizing her father's helpless ineptitude. She'd even gone so far as research in the library and searches in the net in order to get just right the simple things only her mother could do. Simple things such as tying his tie.

When he fell asleep in front of the television, unable to find peace within a bed empty of his wife, it was always Elena that covered him with a blanket and turned the machine off. Again Elena, who knew exactly where the tool-box was, and oftentimes fixed things around the boardinghouse without ever telling her father about the boarder's requests for help. She'd even taken over the care of Abner, his old pet pig, cultivating a love for the animal that rivaled her father's.

The first time he'd seen her bent at the waist over the dog bowl he had been immediately sent into the past, remembering painfully another child who'd had to take on adult responsibilities before his time.

Sometimes it scared him how much she reminded him of himself, lost and alone within grief and loneliness. And other times she was completely Susan, bringing with her a touch of the love that had changed his life.

"Dad?"

He blinked, surprised as his reverie was abruptly broken, "yes, Elena?"

The girl stood, forlorn and awkward before him. Dressed in the same style of clothing she'd worn since the day they had sat her down and explained why Mom had been so tired.

Hands wringing and eyes downcast, her words tumbled from her mouth like river stones, rough and unrefined, "you said I'm you favorite in all the world, right?"

"Yes?"

"What about Mom? Is she your more favorite?" clear brown eyes rose to meet his own green ones. Eyes so like her mother's he could have wept.

Tensing slowly, the blonde-haired man realized that a part of his mind had already prepared itself. For her to question, to be willing to talk about her mother's loss. But what was more, for Elena to fight against change. For her to hate any women he brought into his life. Any woman that would be, in her eyes, replacing her mother. But perhaps, if he said the right things, the situation could be averted.

Swallowing grief back, he chose his words carefully, "you're both my favorite, Elena."

The girl scowled furiously, arms crossed, "we can't _both_ be your favorite, Dad. I'm either your favorite, or Mom's your favorite. You have to make a choice."

"Oh, honey," crouching down beside his daughter, Arnold's arms wrapped around her tiny frame. Trying through the simple contact to convey just how much she meant to him, "you're both my favorite. Just in two different ways. I could never pick between you."

"What do you mean?" she asked in confusion, pulling back slightly.

"Well," he wet his lips as he thought. About what Susan would have said, and how to explain to his beautiful ten-year old something so complicated in as simple a manner as possible, "you know how Uncle Gerald is my best friend, right?"

The skeptical look hadn't left her oblong face, but she nodded regardless.

"But Aunt Phoebe is also my best friend," light seemed to dawn in her eyes and the nodding became firmer, the anger dissolving, "making me chose which is my favorite would be kind of hard. Like…like if I asked you to choose between Jemima or Jonah. Which would be your favorite?"

Her tiny four-fingered hands grasped his shirt like a kitten in a sea of yarn, lost and in need of comfort, "both of them?"

"Exactly," he answered softly, tightening his arms around her, "I love you. And I love Mom. I love Gerald, and Aunt Phoebe. And I love the Triplets and Phillip. I love lots of people. My heart's pretty big, so I'm always willing to let people in. But I promise that even though I have lots of favorites, you and Mom are _both_ my _very_ favorites."

Tears slid soundlessly down her cheeks as she finally whispered words that broke his heart, "then you won't forget about me? And I'm not your favorite just because Mom's gone?"

"_Oh, Elena_. My beautiful baby girl," his arms wrapped around her and she curled herself into his warmth, much like how he'd held her as an infant. Tears filling his own eyes, he whispered the balm for her soul, "I've _always_ loved you. You've always been one of my very favorites. Since I first saw your adorable football-shaped head. And your hair, so like your Mom's," he tugged gently on a single wavy curl of her hair, "You found a place in my heart before I even held you. You're _that_ wonderful."

Silence reigned as the child slowly brought her emotions back in control, and taking advantage of his daughter's lack of response he continued, "I really am sorry if I made you feel like I was forgetting. Or that I only love you _now_ as my favorite, because Mom is gone. I was just…sad. For a really long time. And all I could feel was sadness."

"But I was sad, _too!_" she huffed wetly, tossing her light brown hair over one shoulder as she proceeded to use her shirt sleeves as a handkerchief. Arnold winced but remained silent.

"I know. I realize that now. And I _am_ sorry. I promise that I won't ever get so lost in my own feelings that I forget you, Elena. I'll always tell you how much I love you. Or how pretty you are," she choked out a laugh to his words, and straightening rose to rest her head on his shoulder.

"Thanks, Daddy. I love you."

"No problem, my baby-girl. And I love you, too."

Light brown waves mixed with shaggy blonde strands as she rested herself against him, arms wrapped around his neck like she had when she was a baby. Without thought he began to rock back and forth, humming tunelessly like he had what seemed so long ago. Only to freeze as her words asked a question for his ears alone.

"You love a lot of people, right Daddy? Then could you love Miss Helga? Could she become a favorite?"

Unseen, he gaped in surprise. Rocking stopped by a question he hadn't expected, "what?"

She pulled back to earnestly face him, his oblong head held in place by the grip she held on his small, round ears. Serious and emotionless, she asked again.

"Could Miss Helga become a favorite?"

"I…I guess. Maybe?" confused and gaping he stared into his daughter's eyes. What she saw in his green orbs seemed to meet her approval, and with a wet smile she finally stepped away.

"Good. 'Cause she's one of my favorites, too. I miss Mom, but I think she wouldn't mind if you made Miss Helga a favorite. Maybe she can be a 'very' favorite someday, too?" Leaving the question at that, she skipped her way from the room.

Leaving a very dumbfounded father in her wake.

"What…what just happened?"

An hour later, what little confidence he'd had had disintegrated. Confusion put a whole new spin on his current situation, including the upcoming date. Because it wasn't just a date anymore. It was the opportunity for a future. A future he'd only lightly mused on, without really thinking of the consequences that might fall upon both himself and his daughter. Elena had essentially informed him of her acceptance of her mother's death and her willingness that he date again. Specifically a single person. But what if it didn't work out between them? What if she became attached to Helga and ended up heartbroken when things didn't work out? And what about him? Was this just a Rebound for him? Or was he really interested? Would he be able survive losing two women in as many months, three including Elena?

His innocent impulse to ask Helga out suddenly wasn't as simple. Without noticing, his anxiety turned to pacing and self-doubt. Meanwhile the clock showed no mercy, slowly counting down the minutes until the time was at hand. Now was the moment of truth.

Unfortunately 'truth' was wearing a tread in the rug, Elena mused as she watched her father slowly come apart. She didn't know how many times her Dad had paced in front of the doorway, but it was starting to drive her crazy.

Ever since she'd put into action her part of the plan an hour ago, he'd been frantic and confused. Throwing her strange looks, about to ask her questions, before he abruptly changed his mind and returned to worrying about more pressing matters. All the while he tore her great grandmother's rug to shreds with his frantic pacing and worrying.

First he'd searched for his keys, only to think he'd lost them. At which point he'd scoured the boardinghouse frantically before realizing he'd left them not on their hook, as he remembered, but had already placed them in his pocket. Then he would lose his wallet, find it, then panic all over again over whether he had enough cash for a proper tip, should they decided to grab something to eat.

Similar scenes unfolded repeatedly before the eyes of his daughter, like a 'Chose Your Own Adventure' book in which the author hadn't been overly creative, ending each scenario with the same stupid plot twist.

Starting to get a headache from all the pacing, she turned to face her twenty-two-year old companion, the two of them sitting in boredom upon the stairs.

"Are all boys this dumb when it comes to girls?" she asked George Bendelheist-Shmidt, his lengthy form engrossed in counting the swirls on the ceiling above them.

"Usually, yeah."

"What about you? Do you act like," at a loss for a descriptive phrase, she waved a hand at her father, who was occupied with muttering to himself and patting various pockets, "_that?_"

"Only when I'm around a girl I _really_ like," he answered sagely, mind on other things as his hands rested behind his head and body laying across the stairs without any regard for its uncomfortable shape, "otherwise I'm just…myself. You know, _me_."

"Weird? Science-Nerdy? Obsessed with collecting random things?" the little girl filled in tartly, one eye making sure her Dad hadn't done anything dumb. Like set his hair on fire in his agitation. He'd done it once before and afterward had looked like the wrong end of a weed-wacker for weeks. Much to her mother's amusement.

Elena smiled bitter-sweetly as her thoughts rested on her mom. It would take her a while to heal, and she'd always miss her mother, but everything would eventually be okay. For right now, she could let it go in favor of more important things. Like helping her dad. He loved her and needed her.

After all, how would he survive without her? He was practically helpless on his own.

"Oh, I _now_ I see what you're about. Go on, make fun of me, why don't you. But I'll get my revenge, this I promise!" his voice boomed out as he began laughing maniacally, a trick that had once impressed and frightened her. But that had been when she was little. Now she was ten, which was halfway to adulthood. Bearing this in mind, she held back any response in favor of a cool eyebrow lift.

"Done yet?"

Just as the young adult was about to respond the doorbell sounded. Her father was at it before she could blink , and with careful nonchalance he let Jonah and his mother in.

Elena and her college-age babysitter exchanged a look before turning back to watch the show.

As the minutes before his date had slowly become fewer and fewer, Arnold's nerves had become a tangled mass of uncertainties. After all, anything could happen. A lot was resting on what had seemed like a simple activity now. What if they had nothing to talk about? Or she didn't like the show he'd picked out for them? Or what if they broke out into fighting? Would he end up having to pay a repair bill before the night was over? How would Elena react to finding out that their date ended with him sporting a black eye?

His jaw ached in remembrance of Helga's right hook, from the one time she'd accidentally hit him in high school. Afterwards she hadn't even had the merit to apologize--instead she'd scolded him for not being _Brainy_ of all people!

The doorbell interrupted his chaotic worries and hopes. Taking both firmly in hand, he made his way to the door. Time seemed to slow as he reached for the handle and pulled. The young teacher held his breath in anticipation, only to have it stolen away once more.

_Helga was beautiful._ The statement of truth filled his mind like an evening mist, enveloping him in comfort and serenity. Taking away all panic as he realized that everything would be all right, so long as his eyes were allowed their fill of his companion.

Wearing an ankle-length, royal blue cheongsam, she shone like a sapphire. Her long golden hair had been pulled up into a loose knot at the crown of her head, only a few loose curls dusting the matching blue flower in her hair. It wasn't until he'd had a second look that he realized it wasn't a real rose, but an imitation that had been made of silk and wound around a stick hairpin, the short length of silver ending in a pearl.

She wore no jewelry except a matching pair of pearl-drop earrings, gentle dews of white framing blue eyes emphasized with silver.

"You…you look," Arnold began, voice no higher than a whisper in his awe, "_very_…"

"…pretty," Elena finished for him. Even as his lips breathed their own response.

"…_perfect._"

Helga flushed in embarrassment, head ducking in the face of their admiration. Even as her son stood beside her, beaming as though he'd had some hand in it all. Arnold cleared his throat, suddenly realizing that they were still standing in the foyer, and he was still staring.

A sly smile came to the lips of the secretary, despite the blush coloring her face in attractive pink. It surprised him just how attractive the color made her look, emphasizing the deep blue eyes she hid behind her bangs and brow, "take a picture, Arnoldo. It'll last longer."

Embarrassment reigned between the two single parents, their relationship brought back into the light and questioned as he motioned the duo in, she followed his motion, and the dark-haired boy began taking off his coat. Looking for something to use as a distraction from his own feelings, the teacher helped Jonah hang up his winter wear before turning toward the stairs, hand held out.

"This is George Bendelheist-Shmidt, one of our boarders. He's going to be babysitting Jonah and Elena tonight, while we're gone."

The young adult smiled and nodded, even as his miniature female companion was rolling her eyes to the sky, "we're not _babies_, Dad."

He and Helga exchanged an ironic smiled before the both of them nodded slowly, "you're right, Elena. He won't be babysitting you," Arnold paused before continuing dramatically, "He's going to be making sure you don't burn the boardinghouse down."

"Dad!"

The vestiges of his worry rolled off his back with a simple shrug, "well, the last time I left you alone you took out the kitchen."

"_Dad!"_

Jonah merely laughed as their parents made their way out the door. Hand in hand.

"So!" George clapped his hands together in anticipation as soon as they were gone, "who's up for a game of candy War?"

"All I've got is a bag of Pixie Stix," Jonah answered immediately, pulling from his coat the hidden stash.

"That'll do," he nodded as he delved into his own hoodie, pulling out a variety of different edibles as well as a single deck of cards, "I've got Mars Bars, Reeses Pieces, some Sweet Tarts, and Gummy Worms. What about you, Elena?"

"Candy Apple Suckers, Swedish Fish, and Vanilla Wafers."

"Vanilla Wafers, eh?" a speculative look crossed the college student's long face as the trio made their way to the kitchen, "looks like we'll have to up the stakes a bit. Oh! And how did everything go with your most recent plan?"

"Mine went awesome! He totally didn't know what hit him!"

"And you, Jonah?"

The boy sheepishly shrugged, "well, it worked, but I kinda messed up and got grounded."

"Bummer. Well, that's life I guess."

--

Outside the wind had already begun to blow, the two adults determining that taking her car was best without exchanging any words. It was already warmed up and ready for driving, and had chains placed on the wheels, just in case it snowed.

Unconsciously, his arm wound around her form as she began to slip on the wet pavement, damp with the previous day's rain and turned to ice. And in that instance the remainder of his anxious uncertainty washed away. This was right, the bully and her victim making peace with his arms around her. He wasn't nervous anymore, nor worried how the night would end.

She blushed, but rather than shove him away as he'd expected she bit her lip and moved closer into his warmth, matching him step for step. Just as the two of them were hesitating over the decision of who would drive, a gust side-swept the couple, nearly bowling them over.

Arnold moved protectively around her, body blocking the wind. Helga's heart leapt minutely as she realized that she was pressed against the side of the car, her football-headed hero's arms wrapped around her. And just as she thought he was about to move away, gentle words whispered in her ear, his voice a caress barely heard above the wind.

"I think you should drive. It's your car, and you're more familiar with it."

The words were mundane, but she couldn't help the pure, unadulterated grin that came with her response, "you're just worried that someone will see you driving a pink car."

He hesitated a moment, surprised, before his eyes lidded halfway, looking around them shiftily and holding a finger to his lips with a smile, "yes. But don't tell anyone."

She chuckled and the wind stole it away.

They were on the road before the rain began sprinkling lightly, conversation light and airy between the two.

"So…you ever going to tell me what show we're seeing, Geekbait?" Helga asked as she rotated the wheel around, flipping on her turn signal and shaking a fist at another driver.

"Well, it's a _play._"

"I think I kinda figured _that_."

He turned to face his companion, blonde hair flipping lightly to rest against a high forehead. For a second in time she could almost see the shadow of his old blue hat rest in the cradle of his part. Eyes once again half-lidded, he gave her a half smile, "what's your favorite color, Helga?"

"What?" her brow twisted into a surprised expression, blue eyes laughing behind side-swept bangs.

"What," he twisting almost completely around in his seat, "is your favorite color? We've known each other since we were kids, and I have no idea what your favorite color is."

A smile pulled at the corner of her mouth, "is this the beginning of your interrogation then, football-head?"

He raised his eyebrows in response, waiting pointedly.

She huffed out a sigh in exasperation, "fine. It's lavender. Or dark purple."

"Mine's blue."

She looked up from her driving to shoot him a smile, "good to know. Now if you become famous I can answer radio surveys and win a trip to the Bahamas. Now, seriously, what play are we going to?"

"What was your favorite class in college?"

"Crimeny! What, are you gonna keep this up until I stop asking or something?"

He wiggled his eyebrows mischievously, smiling that irritatingly perfect half-smile of his, "you've discovered my evil master plan. Truly, I'm humbled. Now, what was your favorite class in college? Jonah mentioned that you boxed and played basketball in his essay a while back, but he never really said…"

"Myths and Legends of Ancient Cultures," the woman in the ankle-length Chinese dress answered shortly, and with a blink he suddenly realized that the slit he'd thought only reached her calves really came above her knees. His embarrassment was hidden with a cough.

"Really? I would have thought that it was…"

"Something sport-related?" she finished for him tartly, challenge appearing momentarily within her eyes. But behind it he could see the test for what it was, a momentary chink in her armor as she set herself up to be hurt. Abruptly the view disappeared, and he was left with her verbal challenge.

"Theater or Poetry, actually. Since you participated in so many productions when we were younger," a wry smile stretched across his long face, "and now that I think of it, they were all the same ones I participated in."

"So Theater would be _your_ favorite, then? Mr. Teacher person?"

"Nope. Astronomy. And is that I new nickname I hear coming on? Tired of the same old 'Football-Head' response?"

The light banter continued, each individual testing the other in a twenty-questions fashion until both were thoroughly comfortable, until they had finally reached their destination, a genteel-poor theater building rented out by eclectic artists from varying walks of life.

A poster hung within the theater foyer, the area crowded with eager patrons as they made their way into the building, car parked discreetly in the back. Upon its face a woman stood portrayed, her clothing and background flipped on either side to show the imbalance of the woman's fate.

" _'As You Liked It: Twelfth Night and the Twenty-First Century. A Story about a Woman Caught between Two Stories'_?" Helga read the title aloud, before turning to gape, astonished, at her companion, "Only you could find something this original, football-head."

"Well…" he rocked sheepishly back and forth on his feet, hands in pockets, "I can't take all the credit."

One-half of the unibrow rose, and immediately she was her old sarcastic self again, arms crossed over her chest and curved form defiant. Her lips opened to sneer elegantly, and his ears closed in favor of watching them move.

His throat became dry as he realized just how attractive Helga looked when irate.

_He seriously thought she looked hot when she was mad at him._ There must be something wrong with him, Arnold mused absently. Before her words finally sunk in.

"What's that supposed to mean? You borrowed the idea from some sort of Dating for Dummies, cheat-book? And here I thought you were being thoughtful," her meaning shone from between the lines, revealing to him her true feelings of hurt. _I thought you'd chosen something with me specifically in mind..._

"Actually," he answered happily, calmly taking her arm in his and leading her towards the ticket booth, "I stole the tickets from Gerald."

Shocked by something other than his words, the anger had fallen from her face to reveal another emotion— surprise and a hint of…pleasure? What had he done to bring it on?

Arnold's sharp green eyes fell to the arm he held in his, and her reaction to it. Goose-bumps caressed the silky skin of her hypersensitive forearm, and a flush of pink suffused her face once again. Just as his daughter's angry confusion had disappeared with a kiss to her cheek, Helga was slowly losing ferocity with a simple touch.

He made a note to see what casual contact would do to her, especially in light of future arguments.

She laughed breathily, unclaimed hand rising to check the flower in her hair. Her eyes were doing anything but looking at him, "a Cheapskate and a Goody-Two-Shoes. This date's already looking up."

"I might be both, but at least you know I've got good taste," the cheesy grin he shot her earned itself a shoulder-slug, and he grimaced playfully. His gorgeous date rolled her eyes, but smiled nonetheless. A smile that softened any blow the night might bring.

"_Gerald_ is the one with the good taste."

--

Once they'd retrieved their tickets they were seated, coats placed behind them or on either side. The curtain rose, and the music swelled dramatically to reveal a plot that was somehow creatively ludicrous and absolutely brilliant at the same time. The couple was immediately engrossed, whispering questions and light jokes back and forth as the actors on stage took their story very seriously.

_Whoever said it was right. 'It's the things you love the most, that you make fun of the most.'_

Halfway through the first act, Helga shivered as warm air blew past her ear, tickling strands of her hair against her cheek. Just as she was about to search for the origination of the errant breeze, her date's arm would around her shoulder, his mouth a whisper-length from her ear. Her pride immediately demanded she shove it off, Arnold or no Arnold, but was abruptly silenced as his fingers began lightly caressing her upper arm, just below the sleeves of her dress. The feel of his skin brushing against hers was her undoing, and unconsciously she moved closer until they were nearly face-to-face.

Her eyes lidded in the midnight theater, their lips separated by only the hairbreadth between them. Arnold's own eyes, usually so bright with optimism, were dark as a forest, truth hidden. Like a fairytale character, she couldn't help her curiosity. It ate at her, spreading questions through her heart. _I know I shouldn't go into the forest, but what would it harm to take a look? It's only one look…_

Without warning, her phone nearly shot her from her seat, ferociously coming to life. It was her salvation, its stern vibration waking her from what could have been one of the worst mistakes in her life.

_Or one of the best mistakes_, her romantic side rose to comment wickedly, and in the pitch blackness the single mother flushed with awareness and embarrassment.

"Hello?" flipping her phone open once she'd cleared the theater doors, Helga waited for a response. Only to receive complete silence. Frowning, she tried again, only to receive nothing more than light static. Just as she was about to end the call light breathing came through the receiver like a bell tolling in the night. Turning the sudden anxiety she felt into anger, she switched tactics. Even as she immediately balled her fist, autopilot ready and willing to send a punch over her shoulder, should there really be someone behind her.

"Look, if this is a prank call I'm warning you I've got caller ID! And if you don't hang up right this minute I'll trace you're a--!"

_"Hello, Mrs. Silvestre…"_ a husky voice skittered across the telephone airwaves. Low and gravely, it was distorted to near unrecognizing. But, body clenching up with horrific certainty, she knew who it was.

Despite her, the words drifted from her lips in a harsh whisper, hand gripping the phone shakily until the sound of her earring banging against the earpiece was the only things she could hear.

"W-who are you?!"

_"…who do you think I am, Mrs. Silvestre?"_ came the twisted reply. And in the dim light of the lobby the voice laughed cuttingly.

Suddenly out of strength, Helga collapsed to the floor amid spilled popcorn and sticky candy. Phone clamped to her head against her will—her entire arm frozen into solid granite as the voice wound itself around her mind, sinking into crevices she'd though had disappeared years ago. A poisonous haze fell upon her mind and, curled up in the darkness, she began to shake.

She wasn't in the theater anymore, but somewhere else. Trapped within her memories, the voice fell once again upon her like prey.

_"How's Jonah doing, Mrs. Silvestre?"_

Sound rushed into her ears as the beating began once again. Blood pooling around her, caking itself into her skin and clothes. The past superimposed her vision, and the shaking took over her body. But not before the voice could ask one last question.

_"How's my boy doing, Mrs. Silvestre? And what about my wife? Still _dutiful?_"_

The phone clattered to the shadowed floor, and with it Helga's awareness disappeared. Hyperventilation overtaking her shuddering form as memories commanded her body. No hope in sight.

--

Arnold chewed thoughtfully on his thumbnail as real worry started to ache at him. Helga had left to answer her phone in the first act, and it was more than halfway through the next. Fortunately or unfortunately it had given him plenty of time to think. About the Helga now versus the Helga of their youth. About his own feelings and the surprising lack of guilt he felt at taking someone other than his wife on a date. At the almost-kiss.

It had only been an experiment, to see her reaction. He'd just wanted to see what she would do if he touched her and as they'd shared jokes in a way they hadn't had in years, the desire to wrap his arms around her had snuck up on him without warning. Without sense; without reason. But it had felt right. And with his hand resting against her petal-soft skin, the urge to touch it had been unbearable before he'd finally given in. Only to see the bane of his youth turn to him with eyes that glowed like gems, asking without words that they close the distance between them. And he had.

Until the ill-timed call had brought him back to his senses.

It was only a first date, he shouldn't be feeling as strongly as he did. Yet he couldn't deny that the attraction was there. Nor could she.

Being with Helga was relaxing, exhilarating, and incredibly heady all at the same time. He found himself rising to her barbs despite the conservative urge to remain silent, standing up for himself in a way he hadn't done in years.

As though he was trying to prove to her that he could rise to the same level as she, intellectually. And she was responding back with smiles and laughter. The monobrow had lifted to reveal a version of her he hadn't seen since childhood.

Even just sitting beside her she made him feel energized and alive.

The whole situation brought a movie to mind, one of Susan's favorites. During which the main characters commented on their ability to raise the ire of one another.

_"__How do you do it?" _

"_What?" _

"_Live each day with this kind of passion? Don't you find it exhausting?" _

"_Only when I'm around you." _

"_Why do you like to irritate me so?" _

"_Why do you rise to the occasion?"_

He hadn't found anyone to really spar with since Helga. Not even Susan had been that eager for combat. It was surprisingly refreshing. A memory tickled him of a French restaurant and a red shoe, and just as he was about to connect one and one a hand grasped his shoulder, shaking him from the blank stare he had aimed at the stage.

Startled, he glanced up to meet familiar green eyes and red hair. Disappointment shot through him as he realized it wasn't Helga, immediately followed by concern. Helga's ticket lay clenched in the woman's hand, and without a word the mother of one of his students grasped his arm and pulled him urgently from the theater.

"What's wrong, Lila?" the words were out of his mouth as soon as they'd cleared the doors. In response she pointed to the figure collapsed and half-hidden behind a series of garbage cans. She was shivering and mumbling to herself, eyeing them with blue eyes that seemed to looks straight through them.

"Helga…" heart clenching, the oblong-headed man drew himself to her, only to be shocked as she leaned backwards, whimpering and shaking.

Hurt was concealed by worry as he slowly brought himself closer to her, only to watch as she tightened herself into a ball, fear dilating her eyes as her words finally became recognizable.

"_Dutiful wife…dutiful wife…_" the prone woman spoke the words like a mantra, pulling tighter within herself with every passing second. Arnold shot the girl he had cared for once-upon-a-time a look of concern, eyes conveying the growing horror and worry he couldn't speak.

Swallowing, he said, "how…how did this happen? _What_ happened?"

The woman shrugged helplessly as she watched him wrap his arm around Helga's twitching form. She had reflexively tried to break free before finally stiffening, permitting the man to touch her only because the had completely blocked out his presence.

"I just came from the Ladies room and saw her. I found Helga's phone and her ticket on the floor, and when she wouldn't calm to me I thought…"

"Whomever she came with might be able to do something," he finished for her, the blonde woman's head tucked determinedly beneath his chin. Within his arms she had relaxed minutely, eyes slowly focusing with each move Arnold made, her long hair combed back lovingly until the tangled mess was once again a gleaming river of gold.

Sudden realization struck the red-haired woman as she watched her two old schoolmates. They had been on a date. Together. _Arnold and Helga._ A spark of hope and recognition rose within Lila despite the direness of the situation, and with an unnoticed smile she came to a decision, "would you like me to have Sid drive the both of you home? I can have him call up a cab, as well for the two of us."

"No…no, um, that's okay," wetting his lips, the single father shook his head, careful not to jostle the woman within his arms, "just…if you could grab our jackets and her purse, then that would be great.'

"No problem whatsoever," she smiled softly and exited to give them some privacy. He didn't notice her leaving, mind and body wrapped up in the blonde he was holding on to.

She had stilled within his arms, lungs alternating between large gulps for breath and short hiccups. Tears streamed down her face and unconsciously she turned into his embrace, soundless sobs falling to his shirt collar as she was cradled in the warmth of his arms. Her own wrapped around his shoulders and neck, hand cradling the back of his head as carefully as the one he held clasped around her waist.

"You're safe now, Helga. You're safe," whispered kindnesses resting against her ear, he slowly rubbed her back until the shivering disappeared and her breathing calmed into a normal pattern, interspersed with an occasion gasp for air.

"Where…where am I? What," she wet her lips carefully, throat hoarse and soft with exhaustion as her hands pulled him tighter to her, "what happened?"

He shushed her softly even as he brought them both up to stand. Without warning her legs collapsed, numb with blood loss form her former crouch. Arnold caught her automatically, swinging her up into his arms before she could fall once more. Dazed, she merely rested a tired head against his neck.

"You had a breakdown, I think," the man, dressed elegantly in an entire black ensemble, rocked the woman in his arms slowly back and forth, like he had his daughter what seemed like hours ago, "Lila found you shaking and muttering--."

"Lila?" she blinked in confusion, a frown etched into her features as she found herself grasping at straws for some touch to reality, "…_Little Miss Perfect? _Can't believe she…she did _that_ to Arnold..."

The young teacher wisely said nothing, merely carried her into the front end of the building, beside the now-empty ticket booth. Holding his golden cargo within his arms, it wasn't long before Lila and her husband had returned with their belongings in hand.

"I found these over there, but I wasn't sure if the coat was yours…"

"Yeah, it is," was his mumbled reply as he attempted to balance everything, then quickly gave it up for lost, "um, could you guys help me get her to the car? I don't think I can open the door, much less…"

"Sure, Arnold," was Sid's immediate response, once-scraggly hair slicked back in a slightly-long, yet conservative hair style. While one hand reached to hold open the theater door, his other lay wrapped around his wife's slim one. Her opposite was full of their jackets. The couple helped Arnold get Helga into the front seat, belongings tossed in the back. Then remained side-by-side even as he took a moment to familiarize him with Helga's car and finally drove off, their arms around one another. A spark of bitter loneliness caught the blonde man unawares. The blow was softened by the his companion's presence as his side, his concern for her tipping the scales against his self-pity.

Then they were off, another chance lost in regards to getting to know one another as, continuing on without them, the play came to an end. Sitting in the dark, he was once again lost in thought.

--

**AN:** Happy Independence Day! (For those in the USA, that is.) Remember to take time to be with your family, enjoy the fireworks, and take a real long look at the history of this day. Including the full lyrics of the "Star Spangled Banner" and a realization of just how much work went into the Constitution. Happy Fourth of July!

That being said, although this is kind of a "Fourth" present, this chapter was a bit of a pain to create. But the kids played along pretty well. I figured that they deserved a little bit of love after the large lack in the last chapter. And Jonah's been waiting a while, so I gave him a special flashback scene. Elena and Arnold finally got to have that talk they've needed to have.

Helga got a bit more back-story, revealing the fact that she did try dating for a short period of time before being discouraged, as well as her knowledge that whatever decision she makes affects Jonah too. Much of Helga's thoughts and dialogue are based on my Mom's dating experience as a single mother with children. Thanks Mom. That's real courage for you, going out on a limb with your heart.

**Cheongsam (fill in the spaces):**

http / en. Wikipedia . org /wiki /Qipao

http / bri-chan . deviantart . com/ art/ action- pose- 28739907

What Helga went through in the theater was a PTSD flashback (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder), in which a person relives a horrific event. They came sometimes be mild, merely making you remember a memory or causing you to feel fear and helplessness. Or on the opposite side of the spectrum, as in Helga's case, you can feel like you're living the event again. This is a common disorder for those that have dealt with trauma, such as being in war, accidents, or abuse. Usually there is a trigger—a sound, an image, or a phrase that causes you to relive the past. For Helga it was the phone call.

You learn something new every day.


	14. Chapter 14

Sunny Side Up

Sunny Side Up

By Shahrezad1

Summary: It's been years since the gang was together, and time's passed for everyone. As adults, can Arnold and Helga get past their pasts and finally see the bright side again? Rated for pranking.

Standard disclaimer applies. Don't own, just enjoy. End. This was written for kicks and giggles.

Chapter 14

The light rain had become a deluge as they made their way back to the boarding house, she unconscious and he tired and not a little frustrated. With how close they'd been for that single moment in time, and the confusion of her actions afterward. The biggest question of all, was ahat had triggered her breakdown? Especially when just minutes before she'd been happy, he assumed. If her actions were any indication.

In the darkness of the car, Arnold blushed, glad for once for the silence of his companion.

The only thing he could think of was the phone call. Something had been said or done that had made her react. And it was either that call, or something else that had occurred in the hall, tipping her over the edge of fear.

Sighing, the football-headed man signaled and did and illegal u-turn, parking the unfamiliar car awkwardly in front of the Sunset Arms. They were close enough to the dripping stoop that they shouldn't get too wet, awning protecting them from the elements. Regardless, his unanticipated load by way of Helga's limp form made the situation somewhat difficult.

She smacked him twice as he made the familiar walk up the steps to his home: once lightly on his shoulder and once in an unconscious parody of her old bully tactic--straight in the face, bruising his bulbous nose. Slightly dazed but unperturbed, he continued onward with his mad dash.

The blonde woman in his arms groaning softly as he carefully carried her in, glistening droplets of dew dusting her face and hair. As soon as she'd been safely set on the sofa, he made a second trip for their belongings before he, too, was safely inside, locking the door behind him and hoping the boarders had their keys on hand.

Turning, his eyes landed on Helga's form, moonlight shining down upon her form amid the darkness and the rain in her hair glittering like stars.

He stilled, frozen in a single moment as the memory was branded in his eyes and soul. Something in his heart clenched, and his breath was momentarily stolen away, before the reality of water trickling from his hair and down into his collar woke him and he was once again a single father and an Elementary school teacher. Sighing, and somehow feeling more frustrated with himself than he had in a while, the man ruffled his golden cowlick and slipped off his shoes, tossing their belongings aside.

Helga muttered on incoherently and without regard for his emotions, hair slowly falling from its thick knot at the crown of her head to lay beside her cheek; a pillow of light against her feverish face. Which only a half an hour ago had been full of fear, and only now was softened in sleep.

She looked like a combination between an angel and a child.

Feeling a blanket of fond affection warm over him, the young father carefully removed her heels and hair accessories, then traded the jacket he'd placed around her for a light comforter. Just as he was about to step away, her hand fell upon his forearm.

And wouldn't let go. Blushing and somewhat puzzled, he made to lightly remove the limb only to be astonished as he was unable to break her grip. Just as Arnold was thinking a way out of his predicament, he was pulled forward without warning. Form flung into his sleeping friend's arms, she proceeded to hug him to her, arms wrapped around his oblong head, and bestowed upon him an 'Eskimo Kiss,' noses brushing.

The widower's face filled with heat, nearly glowing in the darkened room, and his nerves abruptly tightened with an audible 'twang.' Every inch of his skin completely aware of just how close the two of them were.

Still, in the silence of the night his unknowing captor remained utterly chaste in her unconscious actions.

Then the tears came. Streams of glistening saltwater attaching themselves to her eyelashes and cheeks as she sobbed in her sleep, nightmares tormenting her form. His presence her only anchor.

Arnold sighed from his difficult kneeling position next to the tatty couch, another part of his soul stolen as she unknowingly allowed him past one of her many barriers. Allowing him the chance to show his care for her, even if she wouldn't remember it in the morning.

His arm crossed around her back awkwardly and, recognizing the tenacity of her hold, he gave up his fate for lost.

He'd be stuck in that position all night, and the only thing he could do was try and get some sleep. As unlikely as it seemed.

--

Helga woke to an unfamiliar sound beneath her ear. Her mattress was lumpy, but warm, and feeling as though she was floating along the waves of the ocean, she rose rhythmically. Cradled in comfort and security.

It was the best sleep she'd had in a long time, and she couldn't remember dreaming. Still, something seemed…wrong. Off. A frown puckered her brow, and snuggling down beneath the warmth of the wild waves, her nose was filled with a clean, fresh scent. Like laundry when it came fresh out of the dryer, mixed with the smell of fresh air on the Sunset Arms roof.

The Sunset Arms roof.

Her eyes shot open even as her 'pillow's arms wound tighter around her, his nose nuzzled into the side of her neck and one hand tangle in the tangled curls of her hair. Helga stole a careful glance around her, her nose inches from the delicate skin of his neck, pulse beating rhythmically beneath.

They had both somehow ended up on the floor. The blanket that she guessed had once been wrapped tight around her was currently tucked into the couch looming above them, the other half caught in their tangled legs.

A flush of red colored her face minutely, suffusing her cheeks and neck as the one-browed woman attempted to extricate herself. Only to be stuck frozen as her male counterpart's arm wrapped tighter around her, slight distress pulling his normally happy features into a frown.

Abruptly the negative feelings dispersed, his grip lightened, and Helga sighed in relief. Once again attempting to slide from his embrace after only a slight pause. Her dress and the jacket his still wore made the situation somewhat difficult. Regardless, she silently thanked the foresight she'd had in wearing a pair of gym shorts underneath her dress, 'Just in Case.'

_Looks like 'Just in Case,' really wasn't Just in Case_, she thought ironically to herself, golden bangs interrupting her view as she became lost in her dilemma.

Just as Helga was about to move away again, the hand she'd forgotten was in her hair wound itself more fully to her scalp, massaging her head and moving her closer. The soft press of lips against her forehead cleared what remained of her sleepiness, only to be replaced with euphoric delirium.

She melted against Arnold's side, self-control lost with a simple touch. Just as quickly, her hand swung up to slap herself across the fact, clearing her lack of control in a gesture as automatic as her trademark, 'Brainy Stalker-Punch.'

"Pull yourself together, Helga ol' girl. This isn't just your football-headed love anymore," the scowling blonde muttered to herself as her mind became clear and focused. Regardless of the golden face so close to her own, "he's a widowed father of one, and asleep or not asleep, you don't want the first _real_ kiss that you share to be while he's unconscious, now do you?"

The self-aimed pep talk rose her determination another notch and, ignoring the feel of his heart beating in time with her own, she unlocked her arm enough to snap her fingers next to his ear.

Arnold jerked slightly against her, startled from sleep but still bleary with exhaustion. Stretching slightly, the hand not curled in her hair spread itself across the base of her spine, his hand dwarfing nearly a third of her back.

_"Arnold!"_ she squeaked automatically, blood filling her face and jutting ears with furious heat. He blinked his eyes clear of their haze, green irises slowly focusing on her brilliant, frantic baby blues.

Immediately, the single father stiffened beneath her, keenly aware of just how the situation looked. And how he felt, comfortable and warm with her in his arms.

"H-Helga?!" eyes the size of tennis balls, his mind shut down until only one thought could enter. _Helga is in my arms. Helga. In my arms._

She bestowed a neutral-slash-sarcastic smile upon him as she realized that he wasn't going to move away any time soon, chin propped on the arm she strategically dug into his chest and free hand drumming lightly on his shoulder.

"So. You ever gonna let me up then, Football Head?"

"Oh! Sorry, Helga!" the attachment on her waist was gone in a shot even as he slowly disentangled the other from her hair. Of their own volition his fingers seemed to skim over the silk of her tresses, senses savoring the feel of gold beneath his touch, before abruptly breaking all contact.

The bully of his youth climbed off of him, the bottom of her dress riding up slightly to reveal the edge of dark mauve shorts worn underneath.

_She's got shorts on under her dress_, a part of his mind laughed despite the awkwardness of the situation, memorizing the moment with a fond smile, _only Helga._

"Thanks Arnoldo," the secretary mumbled quietly before shifting into standing position. Instantly she wavered, losing her balance as exhaustion weighed her down without so much as a 'by your leave.' He was up, arm balancing her, before thought had even entered the picture.

Helga blushed, shoving hair from her face, and immediately tried to shove the taller figure off.

"A little personal space there, Bucko. I'm _fine_. You can let go now."

"No, you're not fine," uncertainty pushed aside in favor of concern, her swung her up bridal-style into his arms as though he'd done it all his life. Then deposited her carefully back on the couch, tucking the blanket fondly around her shocked figure, "you need to rest. Especially if you're still as tired as I think you are."

The dimmed flame reappeared once more within her ice-blue eyes, and he winced silently as the ferocity of their youth once again flamed within her. _If she's well enough to get angry…_

"I'm not some glass doll you can put on the shelf, _Arnold!_" she said his real name as though it itself was an insult, and he fell back despite himself as she continued on with her whispered tirade, "And _for your information_ I feel perfectly fine, and well-rested."

Her round face bleached with horror as she realized her own words and, frowning furiously, she ignored the red that replaced it and continued as though nothing incriminating had been said, "…and I'm _fine_. If I want to get up, then by all that's good and chocolate-filled, I'll get up!"

The child in him grinned gleefully, slapping the baseball cap that had long-ago become too small for him upon his sunflower hair. Outwardly he remained stoically serious, trapping her figure further with a second, heavier quilt, "Helga?"

"What, Football Head?" she sneered, expression seeming almost foreign amid what remained of her makeup, shining waves of moonlight tresses tumbling about her shoulders.

"Shut up."

Then he smiled. It didn't stem the blatant shock that overtook her features, however, and sighing he continued, "If you were really doing okay then you'd be able to take these blankets off yourself," a horribly embroidered pillow was placed behind her head, adding to her prison, "and I know…I know you've been taking care of yourself for a long time. Probably since we were kids, actually. And I respect that, I do. But, for once, can you please let someone else take care of you? You're a mother--you should know by now when your body's had enough and needs a rest."

He paused, meeting her gaze full-on with one of an equal, the smile he'd had still lingering on his lips. Regardless, it did nothing to sway the stubborn determination in his eyes. A firm, unyielding drive to protect, just like when they were kids, "now. Truthfully, how do you feel?"

"Like a bus jumped off the freeway and landed on me," was the sulky mutter.

She visibly wilted in front of him, but not without shooting him a look threatening a future death should any word get out about her moment of weakness. Form snuggling into the blankets around her, she came to accept her burrito-like situation but not without a sarcastic comment or two.

"What did you do to me? Shove me into a sandwhich maker and set it on 'High Heat?'"

"I could ask you the same question," he said quietly as memory reminded him of her grip on his head hours previously. She shot him a questioning look that disappeared when his shrug told her to forget about it. Crouching down to kneel once again beside the couch, Arnold winced as his knees popped with the beginnings of old age. The phone in his pocket was handed over as he abruptly changed the subject, much to her puzzlement, "how much do you remember from last night?"

Surprised, but nodding, the room fell to absolute silence as she rolled the credits back, rewinding her memories as far back as she could. In the reverie Arnold watched as a myriad of expressions lit her unguarded eyes. Until pain pierced between the crystalline orbs, and for a moment a flash of memory shot through the secretary's gaze, freezing her where she lay.

"I remember…I remember driving to the theater. And talking," slim, caloused fingers played with the frayed edge of the blanket covering her, "and you acting like an idiot by asking me stupid questions."

"Thanks," he muttered ironically. Mentally he was throwing his _'Dating For Dummies'_ book out the window.

"And then there was the show and we…" her gaze clashed with his as warmth filled the air between them, remembering how dark his eyes had seemed across from hers. His fingertips raising goosebumps along the surface of her skin, "…yeah. And then I left. Why did I leave?"

"Someone called you?"

"Someone called me…" the pain that had been on the back burner once again pounded through her brain, like a Thanksgiving parade shooting through her skull, "someone…who…"

Fear pumped through her veins as images flashed across her sight, superimposing the man sitting before her, dark cornflower hair tangled and sticking up in every possible direction. Instead there was a flash of teeth, smiling grimly. Four fingers, dark and masculine from working out, curled into a fist. Her son, tiny and scared against her legs.

_Silvestre._

Thunder cracked outside, and her nerves jumped in response. The drawbridge immediately came down.

"Wrong number, Arnold. They were asking for someone named…Craig."

"_Craig?_" one brow shot up, and he propped his hands on his hips in his trademark doubting expression; the one she was as familiar with as the back of her hand, "are you sure? Because you seemed really…different. And you kept repeating the same thing over and over. It sounded like…"

"Really, I'm fine," she searched for a way out of the conversation, eyes sweeping the room before finally falling upon the clock. A tasteful wooden piece that hadn't been there when she was a child. _Maybe Susan picked it out_, "and shucky-darn, just look at the time. I should probably…"

"…'Dutiful Wife,' to me."

"…get going," the words fell from her lips as a haze of fear and adrenaline shot through her system. Hands trained to be strong and defensive shook in desperate horror, and Helga could feel the blood pounding through her veins in time with the clock. Her heart clenching and fighting against itself with every pump of iron sent through her system.

Her football-headed hero drew his questions short as he watched her reaction to his words, concern shoving aside all other emotions as she visibly began falling apart. The closeness between them lost as her barriers again rose before him; resolute as they had been when they were children.

"Helga…"

"Look, like I've mentioned time and again, I'm fine Football Head! Are you deaf? Can't you take 'no' for an answer?! For the love of cheese," her voice shook with fear rather than the anger she was attempting to use as a shield, and silently he rose to stand beside her tiny form, "and I've got to go, so stop being a Goody-Two-Shoes and unwrap me from this burrito, will you?"

Silently he drew her into a hug, waiting until the shaking stopped before he began to speak.

"Helga. You're not okay, so you might as well stay until the sun comes up—it's not even six AM yet. And if you do decide you want to talk about it," he pulled in a breath, the smell of her vanilla shampoo filling his senses, "I'm here for you. If you need me, I'll be upstairs. You can call me down—I'll put my phone next to the bed."

He began to draw away when a strange urge suddenly came over him. Choosing not to question it, he placed a small kiss on her forehead, just above her unibrow. Her protests fell silent, and he made his way up the stairs, glancing back only once to find her watching him through the open door.

Both of his extra houseguests were gone when he awoke, the blankets she'd slept with and the sleeping bag Jonah had borrowed folded up and placed neatly upon the couch.

When George was asked when they'd left, having had the boy sleep on his floor the night before, he'd merely shrugged.

"Probably around…sunrise, maybe?"

It was a few hours before he discovered her purse, left behind in her rush to leave.

In the time between he'd done several internet searches, falling upon _'Post Traumatic Stress Disorder'_ only accidentally, while in the process of looking up _'Panic Attacks.'_ Despite his words indicating that she would be the one to turn to him before the other way around, a part of himself knew that if she didn't talk about the situation now she never would. He couldn't help but feel concerned and protective. More than he should for a coworker, and someone he'd only gone on a single date with. More than a bully-magnet should feel for his bully.

Just like old times.

--

"Saturdays are chore days, Jonah. You know that already."

"But can't I do them later?" was the petulant response, her adorably intelligent son reverting into a child half his age, "I promised Elena and the Triplets we'd meet and-!"

"If that's your reason for ditching you're barking up the wrong tree pal," was her calm interruption, back curled over paperwork in her study, "just because you got to sleep over at Elena's house, it doesn't mean that you're done being grounded. No friends, activities, the net, videogames and basketball. Period. Which leaves you with plenty of time to finish your chores before seven. Get to it, Jonah, dayspace's-a-wasting."

The boy groaned and scratched at his shaggy dark brown hair but made his way from the room, off to put away the dishes and vacuum. Little pity was spared for her son's plight--she had to balance the checkbook, do the laundry, clean the bathroom, and mop the kitchen.

Despite everything she needed to finish, however, she couldn't seem to focus. Swimming from among the list of numbers came Arnold's face, leaning close to kiss her forehead. Intentionally. Purposely. Knowing what he'd been doing, while he'd been awake and aware. And despite itself, her mind couldn't completely clear the image of him, concerned, hovering above her. Or the feel of his arms bracing her back, as he had placed her once again on the sofa. Then tucking her in, in a way that was both irritatingly fatherly and yet still pleasant despite it all.

Warring against her rising feelings was again the fear, itching at the back of her mind like the tap of the taxman at her door. Slowly getting louder, insisting to be let in.

She couldn't remember everything from the night before; her mind had shut down against the pain too much to recall specific details. But there were phrases on her lips that hadn't been there before, as well as the icy knowledge that they weren't safe anymore.

But they had nowhere left to run. Her son was finally in a stable environment, and she'd put all of what little savings she'd had into fixing the place up.

She was confused and scared, but most importantly, tired. When would it end? Did they never deserve to be happy? Would their lives be an endless stream of running?

Just as she had finished checking off each of her entries in the checkbook, the doorbell rang. Frowning at the interruption of her silent vigil, she made her way to the door without a thought to how she looked.

In completely contrast to the previous day's clothing, she was dressed in worn overalls and a pink shirt. Hair was pulled up into two familiar pigtails and a matching pink camo bandana, wrapped around her head to replace the bow so that she resembled an urban guerrilla soldier. All she needed was face paint to make the outfit complete.

She pulled the handle back without pause or consciousness and immediately a hand was held out to block her from closing it again. The hand led up to a familiar face, and, blanching, the blonde mother immediately took a step back in surprise. Heart racing with automatic fear, then anticipation as she realized who her untimely guest was.

"Hey, Helga. You forgot your purse again, so I thought I'd bring it over. Can we come in?" Arnold smiled innocently and, without waiting for a response, stepped inside with his daughter just a step behind him.

The first thought that entered her mind had no part of the moment, and for a second she rolled her eyes at her own priorities. _Looks like Jonah's 'grounding' is going to be broken again. So much for consistency._

Shoving the thoughts aside, she frowned and turned toward the figure now standing in her hall, "what are you doing here, Foo-Arnold?"

He made his way to the living room comfortably as though he'd always visited her home, his daughter motioned off with a simple, smiling nod.

The tow-headed man turned expectantly toward his old schoolmate and peer, eyes resting pointedly on the armchair resting next to the couch he'd claimed, "so. We need to talk some more.'

The scowling, bully persona immediately made its second comeback in as many days. And as she stood there, arms crossed and hair the same as it'd been when they were children, Arnold could have sworn she was a foot shorter and they were back in school.

"You're forcing me to talk?" she scoffed lightly as she moved to stand in the doorframe, hip propped against the wood as she crossed her arms, "Where did 'If _you_ want to talk about it' go, exactly? And who do you think you, Dr. Harmony?"

"No, I'm not trying to be a therapist, Helga," his large head shook back and forth as he smiled quietly, "I'm just trying to be a friend."

"Argh!_ Always_ the Do-Gooder!" her hands were thrown into the air in frustration, clenched against the metaphorical skies, "can't you take a hint for once, Arnoldo? I said the conversation's over, and that's it. Gone. _Kaput._ Done!"

His eyes lidded halfway as he frowned lightly, the stubborn glint in their green depth once again reappearing, "just because you ignore the situation, doesn't mean it's going to go away, Helga," the young father gripped her purse together within his hands, the pink a comical contrast against his faded jeans. She finally took the seat opposite him, but not without an irritated huff.

"I'm not ignoring it. I'm just going to deal with it on my own. Can't a girl deal with her dragons without some knight in shining armor rushing in to make her feel helpless? Look, I'm fine. Jonah's fine. If we have to, we'll move. It's no biggie--we've done it before and we can do it again."

"Uproot Jonah? _Now?_" his eyebrows shot up in disbelief as the absurdity of the situation, "that's insane! He's only just adjusted, and cutting off ties for him right now is the worst thing you could do in this situation."

She opened her mouth to retort, but was abruptly silenced as she was pierced by a green-eyed stare.

"Besides, what was frightening enough about a supposedly 'simple' phone call to make you want to move, Helga? It _wasn't_ a wrong number, was it?" his words were pointed, as was the trap he'd set.

She'd been caught, hook, line and sinker. Setting her face into a determinedly neutral expression, she held out one hand for the item he possessed. The other was clenched into a fist, "give me the bag, Arnold."

His arms tightened around it like a football player, grip ever-tighter with the knowledge that someone was about to take it, "No. Not until you tell me what really happened. Who called you, Helga?"

The blonde woman stretched forward in order to snatch the purse from him, a move matched by his choice to lean back. She growled in frustration before finally responding.

"None of your beeswax, Bucko!"

Arnold moved father back against the couch, raising the arm that held it high into the air, "was it the cops? Did someone close to you get in an accident?"

"Just give me the stupid purse, Football Head!"

She'd stretched herself far forward until they were nearly face to face, her form firm against him as she reached for the bag without luck; he had a longer reach than she.

"Stop being childish, Helga. This isn't a game!"

"So says the guy playing a game of 'Keep Away!' Crimeny!" she immediately scoffed, ignoring the blush heating her cheeks in favor of winning their 'game.' Regardless of the seriousness of the situation, her romantic side couldn't help humming with joy, adrenaline pumping through her veins. While Arnold had definitely come over to confront her, their fight felt almost like banter, especially with the couple as close in proximity as they were. And she had a strange inkling he felt the same way. If the twinkle in his eye was any indication.

Just as the man with the cornflower hair was about to retort, the doorbell rang once again.

--

"Crap," Jonah muttered from the vent above, he and his companion forted out in the attic's 'Base of Operations.' Elena grimaced but remained silent in the face of his distress.

And the fact that her voice, as high-pitched as it was, tended to travel far more than her hopeful-soon-to-be-brother's.

Grey eyes met brown in the darkness before grimly turning back to their revised plans, a few feet away.

Jonah absently chewed at his fingernail, "Well, it looks like they got home early last night and something bad happened while they were gone. What we need to do is find out what happened. We. Need. More. _Time,_" the boy's hand thumped against the lap desk he held, emphasizing quietly his rising frustration with the situation.

While changing the responsibilities for the Social had turned out better than they'd imagined, even leading up to an actual 'Date, Date,' something had gone wrong. There was a flaw in the plan, a flaw they hadn't accounted for.

"They keep talking about a phone call. What's _that_ all about?" four-fingered hand burrowing into his shaggy mane, he scowled lowly. Expression looking like an echo of his mother's for just a moment in time.

The young girl beside him pushed up her glasses and sighed quietly before turning her brown eyes to his grey, "Jonah. It looks like we have to use plan W."

"_What?!_" he hissed, mouth falling open in surprise, "I thought we decided 'W' was only for emergencies?"

A frustrated huff fought its way from her throat and, biting back restraint for a short second, she threw her hands into the air all the while still whispering, "well, it's not like we have a choice! We need more time--'W' will do that. Do you have any _other_ suggestions?"

The dark-haired ten-year old bit his lip and frowned, unibrow curling like a caterpillar across his forehead and round head furrowed in thought. Finally he released a sigh, and as he did his thin shoulders dropped.

"We need to get to a phone."

--

They froze immediately, suddenly realizing the position they were in and pulling back instinctively. He still held the bag in his hands, Helga noticed with no small amount of irritation. The emotion allowed her to hold at bay her embarrassed attraction; negative emotions a shield against the realization that she was breathing much harder than she should be, senses filled with the clean scent that was uniquely his.

Her only consolation was that her football-headed companion seemed to be in the same state, form winded and expressive face suffused with red. Regardless, the stubborn set of his mouth hadn't changed one wit, and with a huff she turned away. Giving the situation up for a temporary lost cause.

She could only deal with so many things at once.

"I'll be back," the blonde woman grumbled vaguely in his direction, before stomping off to the foyer. The door was swung open once again without thought or pause. And instantly her anger took an icy turn as arms enthusiastically wrapped around her.

"Baby Sister! It's so _wonderful_ to see you!"

_Someone just kill me._

"_Olga,_" the single word was spat from her mouth like bad leftovers, leaving an acrid aftertaste in its wake, "what are _you_ doing here?"

The willowy blonde merely waved a hand in the air before letting herself in despite Helga's efforts at blocking the doorway, "Oh, you know me. I was in the neighborhood and just thought I'd…drop in and visit my favorite Baby Sister."

One half of Helga's eyebrow twitched as she glared in silent poison, a fact her gorgeous model-like sister took no notice of, "Olga, you live in _Alaska._ You never just 'drop in.' And I'm not your favorite sister, I'm your _only_ sister."

"Well," the taller woman smiled brilliantly, smoothing her sleep snow park absently, "you'd still be my favorite, even if I had another sister, Helga."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," pinching the skin of her forehead at the headache erupting between her eyes, the scowling single mother finally gave the day up for lost.

_So much for a relaxing Saturday._

Her older sister remained expectantly standing there, head cocked to the side so that her perfect, ear-length hair swung around to frame her perfectly oval face.

"Soooo…why _are_ you here, Olga?"

"Aren't you going to invite me in, Baby Sister?" the older woman countered with a fixed smile.

Panic set off the red alert in her mind as remembrance sent a shock to her system, reminding her with the scream of klaxons just who exactly was waiting in her living room. Despite the innocence of the situation, a part of her couldn't help but want to keep his existence a secret.

Not so much that she was ashamed of his presence in her home, especially after their long familiarity, but rather due to her sister's tendency toward making things bigger than they were. Heaven knew he'd have to meet her family again sometime in the future, but--

She abruptly derailed that train of thought, firmly setting aside thoughts regarding an uncertain future with Arnold. They'd hardly made it through a single date, much less the beginnings of a relationship, and she had much bigger things to deal with.

Such as the statuesque blonde mother of three standing before her.

"The living room's a mess, I'll meet you in the kitchen," placing her hands on her sister's shoulders, the secretary turned her around and lightly shoved her in the direction she'd indicated, "you should know the way by now, Olga. Go."

"Um, okay Baby Sister," hiding her confusion with a smiled that seemed pasted on, the older woman exited. Not a moment later Helga was sliding down the hall, a la "Risky Business," socks slipping and pigtails flying with the force of a woman on a mission.

As soon as her head popped into the room, a familiar scowl immediately pulled at her features.

"Crimeny, Arnold! I leave you for three seconds and you're already going through my stuff!"

"Actually, it was for seven minutes," he responded calmly, never looking up from the scrapbook in his hand, "and I didn't figure you'd mind if I looked at a few of your photos. After all, you did leave it on the coffee table. That means it's free game, right?"

A bland smile met her again-twitching monobrow and in an instant she was beside her son's teacher, prying the large three-ring binder from him. For less than a second their fingers touched, and in that instant a spark of electricity jumped from Arnold's hands to Helga's. Surprised, his grip immediately loosened.

The pigtailed mother of one took advantage of his surprise to snatch it away before returning it to its rightful place on a discreet bookshelf, feeling like her younger self more than she cared to admit. Especially with his piercing green eyes on her back, those observant orbs taking in the length of her overall-clad form with slight amusement and just a hint of fascination.

Her own baby blues remained glued to the floor as she returned to her former position in the doorway, "look, something's come up that I have to deal with, Arnold. Could we maybe have this discussion another day? Without any blackmail involved?" she stared at her fingers rather than the man standing across from her, each fingertip a study of calluses and effort. Regardless of the years, endless fights, and the effort her hands had seen, they still retained the slimness of her youth. Each roughed finger topped by a delicately painted nail.

"Blackmail, Helga?" the tone of his words shot her head up despite self-restraint. Instantly she was faced with not a boy but the man he'd become, feet planted wide and hands tucked into jean pockets.

While the head was a familiar extended oval, the expression was new and surprising. Snatching her breath away with its earnest honesty and stubborn intensity.

"All I did was bring back the purse you left behind. That hardly amounts to blackmail, I'd say," he shrugged, and underneath his plain white shirt, sleeves pulled up, his shoulders rolled in a way they never had at nine years old. Or even eighteen, for that matter.

"I do have a new question to add to my previous one, though. Why aren't there any pictures of your Ex-Husband in here? I've only seen one, and that was your wedding photo," his green eyes darted across the room to indicate the framed image, a single reminder of the man Elliot had been before he'd changed. The man she'd fallen in love with, rather than the one he'd become.

A growl tore itself from her throat and the moment of clarity was lost once again in irritation, "can't you ever give it a rest? And if you aren't going to hit the road, the least you could do is stay in here while I deal with Ol-_something_. Think you can handle that?"

"Sure, but I can't guarantee that I won't look around. What else can I do, while I'm waiting for you to answer my question?" his smile was warm and sly as he made a point of meeting her eyes.

As she huffed and left, she didn't know whether she wanted to smack him or kiss him.

--

"So…plan 'W?'" Max prompted shortly as he and he girl at his side waited patiently outside the Pataki home, toolbox and book in hand. The black-haired youth handled the former as though he had all his life, and while Jordan couldn't help but be irritated with him, the thought that he was probably the best kid for their current job did pass through her mind.

"Yes. Do you have everything you need?"

He lifted the dented box up for inspection, its grease-stained exterior testifying of previous ventures involving similar situations. _Probably a majority of them illegal_, a part of her mind muttered peevishly, at odds with her usually optimistic view of others.

"Does a cat have a tail, _River Jordan?_"

Her nose wrinkled in distaste and irritation, "I have no idea what you're insinuating with that comment, but I suggest we get to work soon."

"Whatever you say, _Jor-El Dan._"

"Are you still irritated over my use of your full name, Maximillion?"

"Of course not. I never get pissed off with stuff like that. _Jordana-The-Hutt._"

--

Helga returned to the kitchen to find her sister busily creating a cup of cocoa for herself. The moment was simple, domestic, and just as she was about to announce her returned presence something happened.

Olga spilled the milk she'd been pouring. Then cursed. Caught off guard, Helga could only star as the woman her parents had always compared her to, even in adulthood, cracked in her perfection. To reveal someone utterly human underneath.

That's when she noticed it.

Olga's hands were shaking.

Without thought the younger sister immediately came to stand before her elder. Seeing for the first time the red rimming the blue eyes so like her own, smile slapped on last-minute to disguise Olga's true feelings.

"Olga. What's wrong? Why did you _really_ come?"

With a sob the taller female flung herself into Helga's arms, form thin and exhausted with stress. Through it all she mumbled and moaned incoherently, all the while soaking the secretary's pink tee with her tears.

She tolerated it for about a minute's time before she could deal with it no longer, the shorter blonde taking her sister's shoulders in her hands, shaking her lightly. Until bleary blue eyes finally focused on a single stern monobrow, "Olga, cut the crap already. Now, spill it. What's wrong?"

"He's _out!_" the two words were torn from her throat in what sounded like a cat being tortured, and instantly a cold sweat drenched Helga's skin.

Then came the shakes, and the all-encompassing fear. Through it all the pigtailed woman held a tight hold on her emotions, especially those visible to others, much to Olga's surprised observation.

"Wait here," the former bully was disappeared without waiting for a response. Allowing her sister the chance to compose herself, and clean up the mess she'd created. All the while marveling at her 'Baby Sister's purposeful lack of reaction.

Meanwhile the dash for the door had been more than Helga had expected and, sliding out of control, she nearly hit the doorjam only to crash into something much softer. Sending the both of them sprawling across the floor, she with her face pressed into his chest.

"Are you okay, Helga?" his concerned voice washed over her and for a second she forgot the new aspect of her dilemma, before it all came rushing back.

"I'm okay. You took most of the fall anyway," she answered without thought as she climbed off of him for the second time in little over twenty-four hours.

"Always glad to be of service," was his ironic retort and for a second she thought he really was hurt. Until she saw the smile, and relaxed.

"Thanks for asking, though," was her belated add-on as she gave him a hand up. Pulling him upright with a single tug so that they were once again face to face.

He hesitated a moment before exhaling and giving her a small smile. Then, to her astonishment, her purse was tucked into her curled fingers.

"Look, Helga. You were right--I was the one being childish. And I shouldn't have pressed you into talking about something you weren't ready to share. I'm sorry."

His sincere eyes pierced the corners of her soul, and entrapped, she forgot to breath. The two of them close, his hands still resting upon her own.

Awareness intruded with the slamming of the refrigerator door, reminding the woman just why she'd rushed back.

"Um. It's all good, Arnold. And…thanks. For caring, even if you were pushy about it. It's nice to know that I've got a friend in you."

His right eye twitched slightly, and the smile on his face tilted down minutely, "yeah. A friend."

"I guess I'll see you Monday, then? The…thing is bigger than I thought it would be," in the kitchen what sounded like one of her china plates crashing to the floor reached her ears. She winced, hair bobbing beneath its bandana, "much bigger. We can talk again later."

"Sure, Helga," the sly look reappeared, "maybe we can have lunch together sometime? On Monday, maybe?"

She froze on the way to the stairs, off to find his daughter, and slowly turned. One half of her brow arched speculatively, "sure. I'll have to let Bli-Harmony know that I won't be able to eat with her, though. Unless you don't mind her joining us?"

"Either's fine," he shrugged lightly, hands tucked into his pockets and grin as brilliant as the sun.

"Okay. Just one second--I'll get Elena."

A few minutes later the family was reunited and, with a hug he managed to entrap her in, they made their goodbyes. But not before his daughter had frowned in huffed in exasperated irritation, as though something had gone wrong.

Not a moment later, however, the young mother had dismissed the image and was back in the kitchen, their last exchanged warming her like a blanket of safety. Unfortunately it didn't last nearly long enough, eyes frozen on the dish her sister had broken.

It hadn't been the china, but rather one of Elliot's mother's creations: a delicately painted plate with an image of the sun rising out of darkness as its inspiring focal point. It was one of the few personal articles of her husband that she'd kept, in memory of her mother-in-law if nothing else.

"Oh, I'm truly sorry, Baby Sister! I didn't see it propped up there, and my elbow just slipped--!"

Helga sighed, "it's okay. It was just something that was Elliot's, anyway."

Olga recoiled instantly.

"So…he's out," pulling out a chair, the shorter blonde straddled it backwards, arms crossed over the back of the seat, "what happened?"

The model-wannabe rubbed her arms awkwardly, no longer confidant as she stood before her sister's inquisitory gaze, "one of the guards was actually a friend of his. It was apparently a plan they've worked at for two years or so, in order for the wardens not to get suspicious. They caught the guard, but Ell-_He_ got away."

"You can say his name, Olga. He's not Voldemort," despite her brave words, she shivered, his voice whispering on the edge of her reason. Calling, itching, taunting her. Biting back the urge to scream aloud, Helga shoved her own panicked feelings down. Forcing herself to breathe slowly and deeply, heart-rate dropping its speed.

She wouldn't have another flashback. Not while her sister was there.

The older woman took no notice of her younger siblings shaking emotions, nor her carefully controlled tone of voice. Instead furious irritation filled a face that was normally placid, and in a move at odds with her position as teacher of Inuit children and the mature wife and mother, Olga stamped her foot.

"This is serious Helga! Stop treating everything so lightly! I got the call from the victim hotline last night, and so did mother and father. They'll be coming later today. I tried to call you yesterday to see if you knew, but you--."

"Were on a date and not home," she finished as a wave of exhaustion once again washed over her.

"A date? With whom? Was it the one man who met Daddy and Mother?"

"No, it wasn't DJ," face tightening into a scowl, Helga gritted out the words in time with the headache suddenly returning.

While being around Arnold tended to disperse most of the negative feelings she had, being with her sister never failed at bringing them back in force. It wasn't that she didn't love her Olga—years of therapy had made her realize that her jealousy was unfounded, and that using her overly perfect counterpart as a scapegoat was probably not the most healthy thing to do. But while she knew her sister truly cared about her, it didn't change the fact that being in her presence tended to try her patience. Very quickly.

"You're off topic, Olga. Stay focused. Now, do they know where he's at or what he's doing?"

Timidity once again entered her countenance, "he's coming here, Helga. All they found in his cell was a map of Hillwood and a photo of you and Jonah. I was immediately fearful for you, Baby Sister, and I came as soon as possible! Has anything bad happened to you lately that might be suspicious?"

"No--."

"Just a phone call that made her have a panic attack," a voice threw out from the doorway. Both women shot around to stare at the figure looking apologetic, his daughter at his side, "sorry, Helga. I couldn't help but overhear. It was accidental, I promise."

A growl underscored her anger as a familiar scowl tugged her features into line, "and completely unrelated to your previous persistence, I'm sure," a wince pulled at his oblong features, "I thought you were leaving, Football-Head?"

He merely held up grease-stained hands, "much as I'd like to, my car apparently won't be going anywhere."

A sickening feeling filled her stomach and grimacing she motioned him to the sink, "fine. Stay. Elena, Jonah's probably still upstairs. Not doing his chores."

"Kay. Thanks," the previous disgruntled expression had replaced itself with gleeful mischief.

Silence reigned minutely as the man joined their party, taking care to remove every evidence of grit from his skin. Olga didn't know how to react so remained silent, hands wringing as she stood beside the fridge still, an inkling of familiarity making its slow way through her stupor of panic. As their new guest finally shut off the faucet everything clicked. Especially the distinct shape of his head.

"'Football Head?'" the Alaskan transplant murmured softly, and both of her companions turned to look at her in surprise, "isn't that what Baby Sister used to call an old school mate of hers? Ar…Arnold, I believe. Didn't I teach you once?"

He smiled pleasantly, hands caught in the towel her sister had provided for him, "actually, yeah. You student-taught us in fourth grade. And when we were Sophomores in High School, too."

"Really?" blinking, she unconsciously turned on the sweetness. Much to her sister's disgust, "that's absolutely wonderful! Then you and Helga have known each other for quite some time. Am I correct?"

"Yes, you'd be right on that," a half-lidded smile rested on the woman sitting at the table, who groaned as she recognized where her sister was going with the conversation.

"Then you must be the one she went on a date with yesterday!"

"Yes."

"No!"

"Yes," Arnold shot her an ironic smile as he moved closer to Helga, hand resting on her shoulder, "until the date ended abruptly with a strange phone call. Which she claims was a wrong number."

"Baby Sister…" the scolding tone in the blonde's voice was the straw that broke the camel's back.

"All right! Fine! It wasn't a wrong number. It was…I mean, it could have been his voice, but that doesn't mean it was him. He didn't use the right name. He said Silvestre--I was a Hernandez-Billings before I changed it to just Billings in respect for my parents-in-law. And yes, I did have a panic attack," ice blue eyes froze her coworker and old frienemy on the spot, as though intensity could set him aflame if she just tried hard enough, "but I'm fine now, and I don't need to be coddled like some infantile pampered priss. Or treated like I'm too young to know what I need," this time the look switched over to her sister, "Quit it, already. I'll be fine. Everything's okay. And it probably was someone else on the phone--Elliot doesn't have the guts to contact me directly. Not after the restraining order I put on him."

Halfway through her explanation she'd almost paused expectantly, waiting for one of the two to interrupt and refute her claim at independence. Instead she was surprised to see her sister standing attentively, hands clasped. Arnold was staring into the garbage can as though it contained the secret to life, and she didn't know whether to feel hurt or curious.

"Are you sure, Baby Sister?" Helga could practically see the worry bouncing around within Olga's hollow skull; open for plain view through her limpid crystalline eyes.

"Of course I'm sure. I'm always sure. And for the millionth time, could you please stop calling me that? I'm a mother and a businesswoman, for cheese's sake. And I stopped being a 'baby' the moment I entered public school."

"I'm sorry Helga, it's just that to me you'll always be my Baby Sister. I can't help but want to protec--."

"What are you doing, Arnoldo?"

He nearly jumped out of his skin with surprise, her piercing gaze falling upon his lanky form.

"Um. About that phone call…I think you maybe be wrong, Helga."

Her unibrow twitched, but she managed to keep her voice low and even, "and how'd you come to that conclusion, Football Head?"

A piece of broken plate was lifted from the trash. Revealing a name as familiar as her own mother's. That of her mother-in-law, written out in careful calligraphy with a single addition.

Eufemio Alma Hernandez-_Silvestre_ Billings

Jorge Billings had been Elliot's stepfather, Helga remembered with an abrupt start, and when Eufemio had remarried both she and her son had taken on her second husband's name. Her ex-husband had been born Elliot Hernandez-Silvestre.

_Silvestre._

"If he was born with a different family name then he's probably found his old legal documents and is using them as a defense for anyone looking for him. Looking for Elliot Hernandez-Billings, I mean," Arnold continued quietly, eyes lowered as he dropped the shattered porcelain back.

But she heard none of it. Neither the pieces of china scraping hard against one another, nor the words coming from his mouth. It was all lost in the wash of water passing over her ears, filling her hearing until she choked on the air. For it wasn't air anymore--she was drowning.

"Helga?"

She recognized her name as though through a thick fog, but lost it to the current. And, eyes rolling back into her head, finally collapsed back into the blessed silence of unconsciousness.

Arnold dove forward just in time to catch her as she collapsed, form rocketing from her seat to the linoleum floor. Just as his arms wrapped around her shaking body, relief fighting with worry, the kitchen door slammed open.

Revealing a furiously protective Big Bob Pataki. Ready to jump down the throat of the man holding his youngest child.

--

AN: When cliffhangers attack!

-Coughs- Well, it's been taking me longer and longer to get these things out. I do have a reason for it this time, though: I had a friend and an aunt pass away recently (right after I started working on fourteen, actually), I've been asked out on a few dates lately (weird Oo;; ), I just received a new responsibility through church, and work's been giving me more hours.

At least it was worth the wait, though. With lots, and lots of mushy glory.

Additionally, now 'Silvestre' has been explained with dire consequences. And the deal with the **long family name**: several cultures in South America traditionally have wives keep her maiden name, merely hyphenating it with her husband's. Sometimes their children will also carry on the double set of names as well, although this is less common.

One example is my friend, whose last name is Gutierrez de la Vega ('de la' being a connector, meaning literally 'of the').

Recently, however, the choice of a wife dropping her family name in favor of her husband's is also fairly common. (The same friend I mentioned previously just got married, and took on her husband's name in wedlock.) So either situation works. I just chose the former since it worked better for the story. And it makes sense that Eufemio would drop Silvestre in favor of Billings once she remarried.

Also, as a side note to all those eager for romance, this fic will receive a rating no higher than T. So making comments demanding that Helga 'jump him' will get you nowhere. (Although the request did make me laugh when I first read it.) I will, however, include plenty of sap and fluff on their road to falling in love and saving the day.


	15. Chapter 15

Sunny Side Up

Sunny Side Up

By Shahrezad1

Summary: It's been years since the gang was together, and time's passed for everyone. As adults, can Arnold and Helga get past their pasts and finally see the bright side again? Rated for real themes and mischievous pranks.

Standard disclaimer applies. Don't own, just enjoy. End. This was written for kicks and giggles.

Chapter 15

Arnold stared into his reflection on his monitor screen, black eye revealed clearly in its complete colorful glory. It seemed a reflection of how his life had been going lately: brilliantly colored, chaotic, and involving a longer story than any Gerald had every told when they were children. The spot had grown larger over the weekend and into the beginning of the next week, shifting from a sickening yellow and on into purple without pause.

So that the only clear spot on that side of his face was his eye itself; the contrast between the two colors, lavender and crystalline green, was almost shocking, and the growing discoloration seemed to suck his pupil in. Likewise, he'd been pulled into a larger situation with a single, mostly innocent decision. The decision to start dating Helga.

Her Ex-Husband was out to get her, as well as any that dared get in the way. She herself was as emotionally locked up as Fort Knox, especially in the face of her fear and anxiety. But he couldn't help wanting to be around her. Knowing the danger and the unlikelihood of her ever letting him in, yet tenaciously holding on despite it.

Being around her just reminded him of how much their lives had been entwined, all through childhood and on to graduation. Sharing the same experiences, caring about the same causes. Helping each other out despite protestations that they hated one another. And now that he had her as entrenched in his world once again, he didn't think he could uproot her presence again. Like the rosebush he had once seen her as, she'd finally started putting aside the thorns in order to show him her real self.

She was the eye of the storm. Or, at least, the eye in the bruise. And the threat of _Elliot Hernandez-Billings, ne' Silvestre_--his mind spat the name out like a bad grape--only made him want to be around her more, rather than less. He wanted to protect her from him, and from pain.

Not that she would let him.

Wincing, Arnold couldn't help but remember the days previous. Him catching Helga in her dead faint, only to be flung across the room himself with the force of her father's punch. The man had been more angry than he had ever seen Big Bob be before. And more protective of Helga than he'd ever been when they were children.

But that didn't change the senior Pataki's lack of foresight. His daughter had been sent skidding across the room along with the man he'd attacked. And since Arnold's arms had been occupied with instinctively protecting Helga's comatose form, he hadn't been able to catch himself from further pain, arms and back bruised from their forced contact with various drawer handles.

Only to be shoved aside once again as she'd come to, her fist slamming into his eye with automatic ferocity. _You'd think she'd practiced the move or something._

That's where the bruise had come from. Big Bob had gotten him in the cheek, making half of his face swell up in a parody of the pig-skins he'd been so mockingly compared to. But it had been Helga that had given him the shiner. Then she'd proceeded to fix his car so that he could be on his way, and she could deal with the sudden influx of relations.

He'd been discouraged, a knight in dented armor, when abruptly she'd pulled him in for a hug. Whispering in his ear both an apology and, after a moment of slight hesitation, a reminder to meet at lunch at the start of the week.

How was he to know that it was in order for her to try to discourage him further?

Rather than remain in the overly full staff room, they'd retreated to a bench on the playground. Watching the children play as she'd calmly shattered any hopes he'd had for the two of them.

"_This isn't going to work, Football-Head," she'd stated calmly, taking a sip of her Yahoo soda without a single change in expression._

"_What?"_

_The blonde had twitched slightly, before continuing with cool determination, "it's not going to work out. So, thanks for the date and everything, but…yeah. I'll always be the Bully, you'll always be the Vic-_Football Head_. And we're coworkers. So it would be awkward if we dated, long-term. It's been fun, but we need to be serious here, and I doubt this'll go anywhere."_

_He'd forced himself to breathe very slowly before taking a sip of his own soda pop. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her watching him before quickly turning back to her sack lunch, "so. How long did it take you to make up that speech, Helga?"_

"_What?" If she had been expected anything, a confrontation on her grammar hadn't been it._

_Slowly turning to face her, he bestowed a wry smile upon her, eyes half-lidded, "Helga, you were the consummate actress growing up, excelling in English and Debate. And I'm a _teacher_ for heaven's sake. Do you really think you could pass an excuse like that by me? Truly?"_

_Confronted with her own slipup, she fell back on old tactics once again. And got angry, "look, Bucko, do we have to do this _again_? Stop pushing already. All I said was that I didn't think it would work out, and there you go getting your baseball cap in a twist."_

"_I don't wear a baseball cap anymore, Helga."_

"_Same difference! Bottom line, it's not going to work. We've got too much of a history. And Jonah and Elena would pitch a fit."_

_Here he'd bestowed a droll brow lift upon her, hands clenching unnoticed around his egg salad sandwich until its insides liberally covered the napkin on his lap, bread squeezed bone dry, "if they were really against the situation, we'd know by now. Especially in Elena's case--we'd _definitely_ be aware of her lack of support. You wanna roll another excuse on by me?"_

"_You're impossible!" the secretary, typically so calm amid their peers, threw her hands up in the hair. Resembling more the pink-clad child she'd been than the woman she was now, dressed in a dress skirt and lightly ruffled blouse._

"_I know you are, but what am I?"_

"_What?!" her hair whipped around, striking him lightly in the face as she stared, astonished with his childish reply._

_Instead of being put off, Arnold took advantage of the situation by placing his, luckily clean, hand upon hers. His bulbous nose mere inches from her snub as the single father moved in on another opportunity, neither noticing several specific children peeking around the corner of the building to avidly watch, "Helga, things may not work out between us, but that can't be determined by a single date. Even a date that crashed and burned as much as ours did. Because, at the end of it all, I got to hold you. And when I held you it felt _right_, as you know more deeply than you'll ever admit."_

"_Just try and deny it."_

_Her breath came in short bursts and, in the glitter of her sky blue eyes, warring emotions left her devoid of words. Beneath his palm sparks had seemed to gather, before she abruptly withdrew her fingers._

"_You're still in love with your wife. And my Ex is going to come after both you and your daughter if we become close."_

_She'd stood then. Stood and left behind the remains of her food, in addition to the remains of his heart. _

_She'd always known just the right words to say._

Which led him here. Staring at his computer screen with bleery eyes encased in purple swirls. Chasing after a ghost of an image, countless eyewitness accounts never giving him the answer he needed.

_Where was Elliot Hernandez-Billings now?_

The question seemed to laugh at him mockingly from news stations all around, each reporter never knowing the location of the escaped convict. It seemed all they had were Olga's words and the Victim Hotline notification to go by. And the horrifying phone call that had left Helga's sense of security in shambles, he remembered grimly. Something seemed to clench in his heart every time he thought about it; like the knowledge of a natural disaster just as it was about to occur.

And like so many other things in his life, he couldn't prevent it. Any more than he could prevent Susan from contracting cancer, or keep his grandparents from growing old and passing away. It was as out of hands as his parents getting lost in the jungle had been, never to return. All he could do was watch the upcoming train-wreck, a mere spectator.

But least as a spectator he could be by her side, there should she need his aid. And if he was to try his best, he would be prepared. Hence the current search, trying to garner as much information from the news postings as possible. So far he'd learned that 'Silvestre' had lettered in wrestling in high school and had been suspended once for fist fighting, explaining much of Helga's past hurt in a painfully simple fashion. He'd come from a broken home, his father killed in a tragic tractor accident, followed by his mother remarrying much later.

It was as a teenager he'd made the decision to never live as his father had, stuck with only a high school education and working a menial job. He'd taken advantage of his Stepfather's kind offer to support him in order to only attend the best schools, graduating cum laude. To all appearances he was an educated, intelligent businessman with a talent for shooting his competition out of the water. Until he'd made the one mistake that caused it to all come tumbling down: The abuse of his wife and child.

Arnold shook his head in regret as he thought about Helga and all the pain she had gone through, only to have it come full circle.

The information was pasted into a Word document and quickly printed, the short summary of previous actions a shallow defense against a very real threat. And making note to start practicing his Karate katas once again, he deftly sent a short email to his old schoolmate and parent of one of his current students, Harold Bergman. Harold and his wife both worked for the police department, and by sending the information they'd garnered from Olga regarding Hernandez-Billings' pseudonym he hoped to make the search more viable for them. Only time would tell.

A sigh marked the end of his frustration, and without thought or pause he reached for the phone sitting beside his keyboard. Dialing a number as familiar as his own.

"_Hello?"_

"Hey, Gerald. It's Arnold."

"_Hey, Arnold! How're things going? What's up?"_

Tilting the computer chair back, the football-headed man propped his be-socked feet on the desk before answering the question, "something's…come up, Gerald."

"_Well, what is it?"_ his friend's impatience colored his words, and Arnold sheepishly realized he'd probably interrupted something. Hopefully the taller man would forgive him, though. What he had to say would probably take a while.

"Gerald," he wet his lips absently, "you know how you said a while back that Helga was a complicated woman, and that I shouldn't try to be her knight in shining armor, and that 'she was a person not a puzzle'?"

"_Yeah?"_ suspicion replaced impatience.

"Well, I think I know what puzzle you were referring to."

"_Well…dang."_

"My sentiments exactly," Arnold responded wryly, switching the phone to his other ear, "but it gets worse than that. He got out of prison, and he's coming here."

True fear and worry now entered the man's voice, and across the telephone lines Arnold could almost see Gerald's emotions take a nosedive, _"Seriously?!"_

"As serious as death. She's not safe on her own, and it's not just my protective instinct that's saying that."

"_Could have fooled me…"_ the mutter was no louder than a whisper, but Arnold still caught it. He resisted the urge to glare at the phone, knowing it was pointless.

"Sil-_Billings_ has already made a point of contacting her, and her sister told us that it's suspected that he's heading for Hillwood, based on some of the stuff found in his cell."

Any usual banter had by this time dissolved completely in the face of the situation. Arnold's usual upbeat manner was nonexistent, and Gerald's voice had dropped several octaves.

"_Do the police know about this?"_

"I just left a tip with Harold today. We can only hope he'll check his email soon," tired and frustrated, the blonde absently sifted his fingers through the bush of hair covering his oval head. Only to notice, when he brought his hand forward, several strands of white mixed in with the cornflower yellow. A wry smile twisted his lips, but other than that he ignored the sign of his own mortality, "Until then, the only way to really do anything about it is to just be with her as much as possible, and hope we'll be able to stop him from trying anything.

"_Let me get this right. Are you saying that _we_ should be with her, or that _you_ should be with her?"_ sly mischief slid itself into the conversation and, caught off guard, heat suffused the pale man's cheeks.

"Anyone that's _trustworthy_," the pencil in Arnold's hands snapped and, skin suddenly smarting, the teacher forced his breathing to calm, "the more people that are around her, the less likely he'll try to get at her."

"_So why don't you just tell her the plan? I don't see what the problem is, to get you so roughed up."_

The four-fingered hand that had previously buried itself in his hair passed over oblong features and, feeling suddenly very tired, the widower pinched the space between his eyes. Voice hardly above a whisper, "she basically told me to get out of her life…"

"_She did WHAT?!_"

"Well, except as a 'fellow public-school employee,' anyway," the blonde amended with a short exhalation, "but she's decided after only one da-_thing_ that nothing would come of us spending time together. Because of some bizarre idea that _Billings Senior_ will target Elena and I."

"_Probably," _the comment was distracted, and for a second Arnold puzzled himself at his best friend's lack of concern, _"oh, and what was that word you hesitated on? I didn't quite catch it."_

Green eyes bounced from his monitor to the small stick figure he'd drawn as the conversation between them had lengthened. It had long hair and a single thick line representing a monobrow, the pale man noted absently. Anything to distract himself from the way their conversation had turned, "what are you talking about, Gerald?"

"_That _one_ word. You _know_ the one. It starts with the letter 'D' and ends with 'ate,' doesn't it? I believe your replacement word was _'thing,'_ if I recall correctly. Very eloquent as a substitution, I say."_

"Phoebe's rubbing off on you, Ger. And the word, 'Date?' Since when did you start liking fruit, Gerald? Isn't it in the same family as prunes? You must be feeling your age, I'm guessing."

"_Ha. Ha,"_ the darker man's voice came directly through the phone, clear and dry. Grinning, Arnold could almost hear him roll his eyes, "that's not what I was talking about and you know it, Arnold my man. Seriously, why didn't you tell me about the date--I thought we were Best Friends, as far as rumor had it."

"If she wanted you to know, Helga would have told you directly."

"_Uh, huh. That's what I thought. Helga and her stupid secret-keeping. Geeze, man. Well, you still could have told me. Bro's before Ho-...erm, girls remember?"_

Grinning, he laughed into the phone, "I seriously hope Phoebe is nowhere around you to hear that statement. Or you'll be washing dishes for a year."

The Japanese woman's voice sounded through the receiver, slightly muffled but clear, _"two. And we'll be having a talk much later, won't we Gerald?"_

A muttered curse by his friend followed by an exclamation of pain rang in Arnold's ears. The teacher merely laughed.

"Well, it sounds like you're going to busy for a while. I'll let you go. Promise me you'll think about what can be done to protect Helga without her knowing, though."

"_Will do. Oh! Which reminds me,"_ a pause, as though the husband and wife were conferring, _"if you're not free tonight, we've got some extra tickets for this comedy act the team's sponsoring. If you're interested, it'd be great if we could all get together."_

"I don't know, Gerald. I kind of needed to correct some papers tonight…"

"_Arnold,"_ the tone of the sports caster's voice stopped his excuses short, _"other than go on a single date with our old tormenter, you've done little more than work, eat and sleep. You need to return to the world of the living, my friend. Get out, do something fun! Be lazy and save the papers for a rainy day. All the time you've got is now."_

Irises the color of the forest froze on the stick figure he'd drawn, then had repeatedly retraced in his absentminded manner. Then paused on a picture of him and Susan, a young Elena cradled in her arms. As he focused on the two women in his life, both relationships lost or at least in need of mending, he came to a decision.

"You're right. I need to get out of the house. What time does it start, and where?"

--

_"So, what did they say?"_ the voice questioning her via telephone lines was one she'd missed. Not that she'd ever admit it; her sisters would never let her live it down. Still, she couldn't help the small thrill that rushed through her as he asked her for further information. Never mind the fact that neither of them were out of Elementary school yet.

"They talked about how your mom needs to be protected and stuff. And then they said that your mom told Mr. Arnold that they can't be together anymore, 'cause your dad would come after them," she summarized quickly, absently tangling the hall phone's cord in her fingers. Her sisters were still upstairs, working with the system Cole Slaw had rigged with his computer in order to access all calls coming from either the Babcock or Billings homes. And her mother and father were working on the dishes together, taking frequent stops to share a kiss, or teasingly throw suds at one another.

While the logical side of her couldn't quite acknowledge the purpose of washing the dishes by hand when they had a perfectly good dishwasher, the romantic side couldn't help sighing in understanding. The same side that was currently making her heart do somersaults, fingers bloodless with their grip on the plastic earpiece.

"Then, my dad kinda told Elena's dad that he needed to get a life, and forced him into coming to some sort of special dinner-show thing. Which was kind of awesome to hear, if I hadn't seen Mom make Dad do it behind Uncle Arnold's back," a grin split across her face, and on the other side of the conversation Jonah could hear the emotion spilling through loud and clear.

_"Your mom's awesome,"_ he remarked in appreciation before moving on with the focus of their conversation. His mother, remembering yet once again his current grounded state and lack of chores done, had metaphorically tied his feet to the floor. So as the group met in small pieces, the majority finding ways to sneak into Jordan's upstairs room with little trouble due to the use of a grappling hooks (the property of a certain brother-sister pair), he was stuck at home. The leader of the group, completely cut off from any knowledge of their plan.

Naturally, the responsibility of telling him had fallen to Jemima. A fact that quickened the speed of Jonah's young heart; causing it to speed with every rise and fall of her voice. He didn't know why, but every time he spoke to his old friend his emotions seemed to leap. And as they talked even now, the piece of paper he in his hands held not notes, but rather a simple drawing of a girl, hair long and curly in its ponytail. Something about his best friend seemed eternally interesting to him, and he found himself thinking about her often for no accountable reason.

_"So, why'd your mom do that, you think?"_

Bubblegum popped in his ear, and although he knew it was only his imagination, he could almost smell the strawberry fruit on her breath. Unbidden, a blush spread from one cheek to another, liberally coloring his nose so that it resembled nothing more than a cherry tomato.

Confused and worried at this strange reaction, the youth forced himself to think about the recent dodge-ball game they had for school until the heat dissipated.

"We think she's up to something. Lately she's been talking to Dad about 'Ice Cream' and 'Pop Rocks,' and we think that's code for Mr. Arnold and your mom. Plus, I saw the tickets when Mom and Dad got 'em. They said that they probably couldn't use them, since it was a 'family pack' that only had four tickets, so they couldn't take us. Or one of them would have to stay home, which wouldn't be fair."

_"So the last ticket…"_

"You got it. And I think my mom called your mom right after."

Silence filled the space between the two children, and Jemima slowly lost herself in imagining as the sound of her 'Best Friend's breath became her single focus. When he finally spoke, it startled her enough that she nearly dropped the phone pressed tightly to one small, round ear.

_"Has the restaurant been found?"_

"Yep. Cole Slaw and Gillian tracked it down online."

_"Cole Slaw and _Gillian_?"_

"Yeah, weird. I know."

"_Hmm. Well…has anything been done about--?"_

She finished the sentence before he could end it, smile shared through the sound waves so that he couldn't help but smile with her. Not that she knew it, "getting in, and monitoring the situation? Yep. Cherelle used that accent of hers to call for a spot, and Meredith forked up some of her allowance to pay for the seats and the food. Deliah and Jonathan are tapping into the building's video cameras with some of their Aunt's equipment so that we can use what we've learned later or maybe use it as blackmail. And we're still trying to pick the right ones to go in. Any of _us_," she emphasized, and he instantly knew she was referring to her sisters, him and Elena, "wouldn't work, and Dennis and Max would stick out like a Hockey Player in a pool. So we're probably gonna have Jared and Meredith do it."

_"You are _amazing_, Jemima."_

The deep appreciation in his voice, colored by much deeper emotion, struck her silent. A flush filled her cheeks, darkening the cinnamon shade of her skin several degrees darker, and the surface of her skin seemed to tingle, as though every one of his words was washing over her, before sense finally returned.

"Right back at you, Basketball Face," she muttered, voice turning playful as she played upon the recently coined nickname, "without you, we wouldn't be setting ourselves up for the worst punishment we've ever had. Congrats."

He remained blind to her further teasing, mind frozen on a single phrase, _"Did you seriously just call me Basketball Face?"_

"Yep. You got a problem with that, _Billings-San_?" the feelings backing her words clearly told him she couldn't care less if he disagreed with her choice in names, anyway. Bringing with it a feeling of lightly irked finality on Jonah's part.

_"Fine. But only you can say it."_

--

"I can't believe you talked me into this," the words flew from her mouth without censor, and immediately the single woman winced, taking a glance at the companion at her side. Phoebe, however, appeared unperturbed; serene even, in her complacency.

Instead, she turned over the menu in search of the exotic foods section, "Helga, I invited you to a nice restaurant for a comedy show, where I am paying for the food. It's relaxing, you don't get out much, and we haven't spent time together since you moved in."

Unfortunately, she was right in more ways than one. As soon as the Secretary had walked in she'd immediately been impressed with the décor, a mix of cherry wood and dark red fabric. Each set of tables was placed on one of many 'shelves' of floor space, created to have a stair-like effect before finally clearing at the bottom as they reached the stage. The lamps at each table were bright enough to see one's dinner, but dimmed enough to provide a private atmosphere. Overall, the effect made one feel as though they were in an elaborate theater, calming and open to entertainment.

And the Japanese/Kentuckian woman was correct in her summarization of their recent contact. Despite efforts on Phoebe's part to call, or set up luncheon dates, Helga rarely had the time to call back, much less do anything. Her vow upon returning to Hillwood to keep in contact counted for naught, due to her own lack of effort rather than anyone else's. She only had herself to blame, and her friends were feeling the pinch.

"Sorry, Pheebs. You're right."

"Of course, I am. I'm always right," the response came with a joking smile, and immediately everything was well between them, and they were young once more.

"That's the Therapist talking, right? 'Cause I seem to remember a few choices you've made over the years that haven't exactly turned out the way you expected them to. Like that stint in Vegas as a waitress at that Star Trek place--."

A brilliant blush betrayed the mother of four's serene expression of unflappability, "that was a fluke, nothing more. And I would prefer it if you didn't bring it up--."

"Tell Gerald, you mean?" Blue eyes stared down dark brown, smirk in place and entire form leaning forward to rest on a single elbow.

A pause, then, "yes."

The rich laugh that burst from her mouth caught the eye of several attendees, a variety of males taking note of her long blonde hair and the cut of her casual business attire. Female stares varied from irritated to amused, but Helga took no note of anything. Just as she had all her life.

_She's never realized for herself just how attractive she is,_ the radio therapist thought to herself as she sipped at the water glass presented at her right, _all she sees is the ugly duckling in pink; ever the same little girl inside. Such a pity. Perhaps one day Arnold can make her see, though._

The laughter died down to slow hiccupping chuckles, and smiling the mother of one wiped the tears from her eyes, "that was all the way back in college, Pheebs. I can't believe you still haven't told him."

"It slipped my mind."

"I'm sure it did."

"How has your new job been for you lately, Helga?" the Asian woman side-stepped with grace.

Still battling the giggles, the blonde raised a hand for a half-shrug, "it's okay, I guess. I like the fact that everyone's shorter than me, and the feeling of helping children, even vicariously, is…"

"Filling," the glow that surrounded her best friend since kindergarten was one of complete joy; a female epitome of perfection.

"Exactly."

They sat in silence, continued perusal of their mutual menus taking their attention once again. Until the former bully decided it was time to break the silence again, features and tone deadpan.

"So…when did you find out you were pregnant again?"

The dumfounded expression from one normally so composed was well worth the bluntness of her question.

The waiter came then, cutting off Helga's question with a request for their order. She smiled slyly, knowing that the shorter woman couldn't avoid her forever. But that thought was derailed as the waiter turned to her.

"And you, Miss? What would be your preference for tonight's performance?"

"Um," a quick look down at her menu reminded the Secretary of her choice, and Helga smiled as she regained her composure, "how about a steak, medium-rare. Maybe the soup of the day and…a side of mixed vegetables?"

The man, looking tall and thin in his early-twenties, looked slightly surprised at her order, but nodded and graciously retrieved the pamphlet from her hands, "an excellent choice, Miss. It will just be a few minutes."

"Thanks…Parker," she responded back, having dodged a glance at his nametag. She smiled and he blushed for no reason, leaving the single mother puzzled when he finally turned away.

"What was that about?" completely baffled, Helga stared after their attendant, taking no notice of the dark-haired woman across from her until she burst into dignified giggles, "what? What did I say?"

"He thought you were within _his_ demographic. And additionally, you're an attractive, physically active woman, so he expected you to ask for a salad," dark brown eyes teared up with mirth, and the short mother removed her glasses to clean them with her napkin.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously, Helga."

The smirk was trademark Helga, bringing both their memories back to days of mischief and pranks; a type of sarcastic half-smile, eye lids confidently at half-mast, "Well, looks like my ego's being fed today. And, thanks for inviting me. I'm sorry that I made such a big whine about it. I've just been a little stressed with life. And it's not like I don't want to spend time with you, it's just that…"

Delicate hands gently lifted the water glass to her lips, and for a second Phoebe looked so serious and demure that her companion could have sworn she was a Geisha in a past life, "…your husband has escaped from prison, and you're worried he's coming to Hillwood."

The fear, held at bay for the past few days by will along, came rushing back with one fell swoop. It quickened the beat of her heart, sent the adrenaline like wild horses through her veins, and cut off all breath. Before eyes as blue as cloudless skies, the visage of her forever companion swam like a photo in the wind. Four-fingers clenched in the pristine burgundy tablecloth, clamping down on something physical until she could once again gain control.

"How did you…" the question turned matter-of-fact as her shoulders dropped, realization hitting hard, "_Arnold._"

The glass the Japanese woman held was set down in a single fluid move, the slight clink it made as it met the table the only indication of her feelings. And instantly bespectacled eyes met furrowed blue, "it was on the news, Helga. Arnold never spoke to me on the issue," the white lie tickled the back of her throat, and Phoebe Heyerdahl-Johanssen resisted the urge to blink, reminding herself that it had been her husband who had been told, "so it might be to your advantage to keep him breathing."

Silence dominated the table like water pressing down their shoulders, and for several long minutes the two busied themselves with arranging silverware to their preference. Finally, swallowing her pride, the taller woman spoke, pale cheeks flushed red with embarrassment and shame.

"Look, I'm sorry I've been keeping things from you lately, Pheebs. It's just…life's been topsy-turvy. Especially with the new job, and Jonah's new school, and Ar-Arnold and I working on the Winter Social together. And I know that if asked, you'd just listen, but it's hard to get past my own insecurities. I like to deal with life on my own, and when I can't…I don't know what to do."

"You've always been a very secretive person, Helga," the tiny paw that was stretched forth across the table rested upon her own like a warm mitten, and another dose of fear dissipated into the air. Helga's posture straightened, and a smile returned to her face, "and I've never faulted you for it. It's part of who you are, and no matter how much of your feelings you keep from me I will never judge you. But there are some matters in which…Gerald and I wish to aid you. Gera--," sudden shock broke through the moment and the married woman's expression blanked with surprise, "Gerald? What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean, 'what am I doing here?' I thought you said we were having a friend's night," the tall man draped himself liberally around his wife's form, arm resting at his opposite's back with a familiarity that made Helga ache minutely.

She frowned and shoved the arm off, at which point he merely removed it to the back of her chair, "I said that _I_ was having a friend night. With Helga, to talk."

His shrug covered his feelings on the subject, "I figured you had invited a bunch of girls, and I would be stuck surrounded by Estrogen. So I invited one of my own friends. I didn't think it would be a problem."

The words seemed to spark something in Helga, and instantly she knew. "You didn't…?!" The question was answered seconds later with a voice she couldn't forget, no matter how hard she tried.

"Hey, Gerald. Did you see where I put my wallet? I know I set it down, but I can't remem…" words trailed off as Arnold stared aghast at the woman who had officially shot him down. The woman he had a past with, and the woman that already made his heart ache. _Why didn't I ever notice how wonderful she was when we were younger…was I really that dense?_

"You left it in the car. Don't worry, I'm paying."

"_I'm_ paying," the Therapist's normally pleasant features puckered with irritation. Her husband was the only one that could rile her up in any direction. Not even Helga had that effect on her, and while oftentimes she appreciate the feelings he brought out in her, there were moments all she wanted to do was take a blunt instrument to his hair-stacked head.

"Really, Pheebs?" the nickname he'd picked up from his old rival rolled off the sports caster's lips with glee, and instantly the arm was back around her waist, lightly squeezing. She colored but remained frowning. Meanwhile, Helga was snatching up her purse and straightening, unnoticed by the married duo.

"Um. I've got to go. I forgot to…water my cactus," wincing at the bad excuse, the blonde single mother rolled her eyes and shrugged, before turning to go. Arnold could only watch with growing dismay, form frozen in shock beside their table, "Bye, Pheebs. See you on the flipside."

"Helga, please don't go," the Asian woman's voice took on an almost hysterical edge, dark hair frizzing with slight anxiety. Her husband's eyes bounced between the two main women in his life, confusion and surprise coloring eyes normally light with mirth.

"No, it's okay Phoebe," she gave her a smile that was more grimace than anything else, "We can do something else another day. Bye Gerald. See ya, Football-Head."

Long legs made swift headway, and she barely avoided running into their confused waiter as she bee-lined for the glowing green sign of freedom. His puzzlement was solved seconds later as another individual followed in her wake; a man with a desperate look on his face. Giving up the idea he had had at giving the beautiful blonde woman his number, Parker allowed the man to pass with a sigh, indicating the direction to her pursuer.

"Helga! Don't leave just because I'm here. Look, I'll leave so that you can stay. I swear I didn't mean to interrupt your time with your best friend," his words were as earnest as they had ever been, brows furrowed with worry, as he reached out to lay his hand upon her arm. She jerked back as though shot, and through the minute connection he couldn't help but catch the jolt of energy that passed from her to him.

The excuses came before thought did, as they always had, and she turned away once more, "It's no problem, Arnoldo. If I stay they'll be lovey-dovey anyway, which is kind of like forcing yourself to watch a slug try and cross a circle of salt, if you know what I mean. So I'll just go."

"_Helga_…" the pleading in his voice didn't go unnoticed, and just as she was about to whirl around and face him something barreled into her side, and abruptly the world went dark.

--

"Emergency maneuver number 46.a is complete," Meredith Gammelthorpe-Lloyd stated with triumph in her fancy dress and sequined slippers, the glee in her voice reminding her companion of the one and only time he'd ever met her father.

His slight shudder was masked by a stare of disbelief, arms crossing over a barrel chest, "Meredith, we just shoved them in a closet."

"Soooo?" eyes liberally painted with eye-shadow turned to roll up at him, and the hands on her hips matched him expression for expression, "You got a problem with that, Jared? It got them together, didn't it?"

When they had first walked in the host had taken a double-take; the slim pop-princess paired up with what seemed like a much older, and large boy. But they had reservations set up, and so he hadn't had any choice but to seat them. The girl in her overly glamorous wear, and her companion in simple slacks and a button-up shirt. The one fact that had kept him from calling the cops on them, believing the boy to be an 18-year old dating a minor (way, _way_ minor), had been their relationship. If anyone wore the pants in the relationship, it was the dress-wearing prima donna. And the host couldn't imagine the youth taking advantage of the situation, but rather the other way around, so he'd let his uneasy feelings go, unknown by the scheming duo.

"Yeah, but Jonah probably didn't mean _literally_. And now we've got nothing to use on them."

"That's what _you_ think," smirking slightly, one manicured hand was presented before his eyes. And while he couldn't help but feel irritation at her manner of treating him, a part of him could help but be eager to see what she would do next. Whether simple or elaborate the plan may be, she was a lot more intellgent than she looked, "Hand me the voice recorder Deliah gave you."

"Fine. Here."

Unnoticed by the duo within, nor even the staff that would later pass by, a small button was placed under the crack of the door, making note of every word said. Even as the two children returned to their dinner and entertainment, positive in their security that the mission had gone without a hitch.

--

"What in the heck…" dazed and confused, Helga first felt her head for a concussion, before trying to get a handle on her surroundings. The room was dark, tall, and narrow, she could tell, and there was a slight outline of light around the door. All around her, the dim shapes of towels, tablecloths, cloth napkins, and aprons surrounded in clean towers upon numerous shelves. Merely waiting to be used. But if the walls around her were soft and close, the ground beneath was anything but. It was moderately hard and somewhat jumbled in shape, as though something had been dropped without order upon the floor. She nearly jumped as it moved beneath her, and then the realization came.

"Ugh…what hit me?" Arnold muttered from beneath her, arms stretching to remove themselves from beneath her form. Then freezing, his hand skimming the silk of her dress pants, palm resting at her hip. Four fingers skid away as though burned, and even though it was black as pitch she swore he was glowing in the dark.

"Hey, Football Head. Welcome to the Land of the Living."

"_Helga?_"

"No, Dracula. Now scoot over and lets try and--Dangit, Arnold!"

"Sorry Helga…"was the sheepish response. He'd been so eager to move that he'd tipped her over in the process, not realizing that she was half-tangled in his limbs. Tripping her up further so that, while he was now sitting upright, back to the wall, she was unfortunately draped across his chest, nose resting against his collarbone.

"It's…okay. No harm no foul. It's not like…"her words trailed off as realization came. The reason why she'd face-planted into her victim of old wasn't because of his lack of sense, but rather the size of the room. His legs were bent at the knee, crouched in a position that was uncomfortable and likely to cut off circulation. And if she tried to stand, she was more than likely to step on her imprisoned companion or trip once again. There was barely enough room to sit, much less anything else.

"Why, _why_ am I so cursed? Just ask me that one question, I _beg_ of you," the words were muttered under her breath, but being that her breath was inches from his face the football-headed man couldn't help but overhear.

"Helga…"

"Fold your legs, Arnoldo."

In the darkness she could almost feel him blanch, his face near hers, "_what?_"

"Just cross your stupid legs, okay! Geeze Louise, Hair boy, you'd think you were deaf or something if you couldn't hear me the first time. Now cross your legs!"

Without a clue, he crossed them within the cramped quarters, then waited as the woman shifted carefully until she was seated directly before him, neatly in his lap with her back to his chest. She sighed with resignation, form stiff as a corpse, and in the silence the teacher didn't know whether to feel happy or scared at what she would do next.

First, Helga tried the handle. It was locked. She then sat in silence for roughly the next five minutes. The seconds rolled by with excruciating awareness, the blonde woman in his arms glaring at the knob as though trying to mentally force it open. Meanwhile, he merely waited and reflected on the irony of the day, and his words of his good friend previously. "_Are you saying that _we_ should be with her, or that _you_ should be with her?"_

The appropriateness of the comment hit him with an ironic clarity, and he bit back the urge to chuckle, knowing Helga would react negatively. His thoughts eventually started to calm, and just as Arnold had begun dozing off, arms unconsciously resting at her waist, she shifted in his arms then deliberately leaned back against him. And his heart began its efforts to give him a heart attack.

"So. It looks like you've got me where you want me."

"E-excuse me?"

"For the past few days you've been trying to get me to speak. Well, as luck would have it, all we have is time," the shrug was elegant in its simplicity as he felt it against his shoulder and clavicle, "We might as well talk."

"Well, okay. As long as you're fine with it. About what?"

"I don't know!" the calm he'd thought she'd settled into cracked with the slightest pressure, as the one-browed woman threw her hands into the hair in frustration, "Just…something to take my mind off this oppressive lack of personal space! All I'm asking is for a simple Q and A session, all right. You think you can handle that?"

"Fine…"irritated himself, a huff of air shot past her ear and he felt her shiver against him. For some reason, it made him smile in the dark.

"All right, I've got one. Why did you bully me so much growing up? I can't see what I did to ever warrant it."

"…" her silence spoke for itself, and in the midnight black he could sense her turning to stare at him, "you want to talk about _that?_ _Now?_"

Irritation sparked minutely, and the teacher forced himself to calm in the face of Helga's words, "You asked, and I obliged. Somehow I thought you'd appreciate the fact that I wasn't snooping for information about your Ex-Husband."

The single mother fell silent, before a sigh reverberated through her back to his chest, "true. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"…"

"So?"

"You were the only one to ever be nice to me, including my family," the words rose no higher than a whisper, but he heard every one of them and immediately something within him began to ache.

"…well, your family seems to love you quite a bit now," optimism tried and ultimately failed, and in the dark of the closet he shrugged helplessly.

"Being protective of a daughter you possessed and almost lost isn't the same as loving a little girl so that she never has to worry that you think she's only an extension of her sister. Did you know that Olga and Helga come from the same name root, focusing on the former name rather than the latter? I found that out in high school, sadly enough. Latin class, actually. We were talking about name meanings and had to look up our own."

"Oh. I'm sorry…"

"Not your fault my parents are evil."

The comment left him staring at where her face would be, green eyes wide in surprise, "how can you say something like that, Helga? They're your _parents_."

"So? Just because they genetically created me doesn't mean they're good parents," her flippant comment held an underlying bitterness, and he responded without thought to its emotion.

"It's still better than not having any. You should appreciate yours more."

"That's relative. And you at least had your grandparents as backups; some of the coolest adults in our neighborhood."

"They weren't _backups_, Helga, they were all I had," the single father could slowly feel the situation slip through his fingers, and realizing that his feelings were leading sway, Arnold forced his tone to even out as he explained, "They were well-past the age to take care of kids. By the time we were in elementary, it was more like I was taking care of them. Not the other way around."

He never knew silence could be so deafening, and in the restrictive confines of the closet, he felt Helga finally shift in his arms in order to brush her hand against his.

"Sorry, Arnold. I tend to not see…"

"It's okay, Helga. Just…remember next time that everyone deals with problems," _Everyone,_ his mind continued, thinking of each of his students' families and backgrounds.

"Right," a clearing of her throat broke the silence once more, "so, speaking of problems…yeah. I picked on you because you were nice to me. Go figure."

"Any particular reason why?"

"I didn't know how to be nice back, I guess," as he began digesting this, she continued further, "Pheebs once did this radio show where it talked about the human need for attention. On the whole, the average person receives a decent amount of attention. The amount of attention they get is based on several factors, including birth order and culture. If a person doesn't get enough positive attention, though, they'll go for whatever attention they can get. Which in my case was negative attention. I had been working with negative attention for so long, I didn't know how to give positive attention back. So I gave what I had. And then it kind of became a…well, a comfort blanket I guess."

"So the more you gave me negative attention, the more positive attention you actually wanted to give me? Is that about right?" The hands she hadn't yet removed from around her sparked with energy, and he could practically feel the heat coming off of her as she lay against his form.

"Wow, you're a regular Freud, Geekbait," the sarcasm rolled off his bully in waves, and he resisted the urge to hug her tighter as a wave of affection filled him momentarily. Any time he hit a truth the defenses would go up, he realized, the emotional cues giving him the knowledge he needed to understand her real feelings.

"While I'd love to take all the credit, I've actually had several conversations with Dr. Harmony regarding the subject a time or two," the oblong-headed man remarked, "anyway…well, at least there's a reason for the bullying. Not that I liked it at the time, but…well, hindsight. Still, everything aside, you should give your family a chance. They're a little…unorthodox. But maybe if you talk to them about your feelings…"

"Always the do-gooder, eh Football Head?" she neatly sidestepped the comment, and for the moment he was willing to let it slide, "You know I actually had a dream where someone was telling me that, now that I remember. It was kind of weird,"

"Really? What was it about?"

"I was on your roof, next to the skylight. And so were you and our kids," a thrill went down the man's spine at the way she said it. _'Our kids.'_ "and this voice comes out of nowhere and pauses the scene, and then tells me…ah. Um, some instructions. Well, and then she tells me to tell you that you're a do-gooder. Or a goody-two-shoes or something like that."

The thrill became a shiver. _Susan? Susan was appearing in Helga's dreams?_

"Anyway, yeah. So there's the answer for you. Shoot me another question, I think we're going to be here for a while."

Unknown to the secretary, he suddenly felt the need to know more. He knew he cared for Helga, and would be devastated if she did cut herself from his life. And he now knew that she hid positive behind the negative, caring more deeply for him than she would ever admit. Ever. And then there was the arrival of Susan in her dreams. Too many things were adding up, and if he could get down to the root of his realization, perhaps he would find the answers he was seeking. Suddenly it him, the right question to ask.

"FTi."

The silence deafened once more, and in the molasses shadow she stared at his oblong shape, blue eyes wide, "…what about it?"

"I want to know about that night. Why you helped us, and why you said what you did."

"Arnold, we were _nine_ years old."

"Elena and Jonah are ten. Gerald and Phoebe knew they were meant for one another at nine. How does being young change anything?"

"It was…it was just an adventure; an accident," sudden inspiration made her continue, "and it was in the hope that I would receive positive attention rather than the usual negative for my actions."

"But why positive attention from me specifically, Helga?"

"…because you've always been the only one to give me positive attention?"

Hands rough with years of basketball and work, yet soft with the gentleness of a father's love, wrapped themselves around her middle and brought her back against his form. Then leaning forward, a football-shaped head was rested on her shoulder in the nook next to her neck. So that his quiet words had nowhere to go but her soul.

"Why did you say you loved me, Helga? And why did you kiss me? You do realize that you were the one to give me my first kiss, and my second _and_ third."

"Um…" his proximity was doing things to her sense of balance, and while her brain was pounded red-alert, somehow her romantic side had broken free and was commanding the beat of her heart.

Sense tied up the romance before it could completely take over, unfortunately, and she answered with an honesty that was unexpected.

"I did love you. When I was nine. But that was then, this is now, and we were only children."

The forthrightness of her words surprised him, and while Arnold's head remained on her shoulder, genuine curiosity brought his voice back to its normal octave as the schoolteacher continued his line of questioning, "If you loved me when we were kids, why didn't you do anything or say anything?"

"What are you talking about?" out of all things he could have said, she'd never expected him to confront her about telling him. Growing up she'd more likely have expected Arnold to reject her feelings toward him, as twisted as they were, than to accept them.

"Junior High. High School," his words continued, calm and serious. Yet soothing in the way the wind whistling through the trees reminded her of summer, when the year was well on its way through winter, "Why didn't you say anything, or just let me know that you felt that way?"

The wind was cut short as realization took over. He was confronting her on her lack of action, when he was just as much to blame. After all, accountability was a two way street, "Arnold, remember the fact that I'd _already_ spat out my feelings. The ball was in _your _court, Football Head. And you didn't want to play. Or so I guessed. I mean, dating pretty much every girl in our grade except for _me_ kind of sends a message, you'd think."

_FTi._ The word sprang back to his mind like acid in his face. _I _had_ known. Yet I swept it under the rug. But that doesn't mean I understood the seriousness of her feelings._ His head rose once again to rest against the wall, distancing himself slightly from her warmth in order to make sense of the situation, "So I'm expected to know exactly what you're thinking, and then act on it, then? When has being telepathic been a relationship requirement, especially in high school? And I didn't date every girl, only the ones that were friends and didn't have anybody to go to activities with."

"Arnold, they played you like a violin. Do you really think _Rhonda_ couldn't get a date?" the smile she turned to give him was sickeningly sweet, "And besides, _you_ were the one that decided to sweep what happened at FTi under the rug with your whole 'Spur of the Moment' crap. Not _me_."

"…they used my niceness against me?"

"…what do you think, Hair Boy."

A sigh, "…okay, so I'm dense. We've established that fact already."

"No kidding, Bucko," the hand she twisted to rest on his shoulder was lightly roughed with calluses and sent a spark through him with its simple touch, leaving behind a lingering warmth. Making him more willing to concede.

"So, I guess hypothetically, the whole 'missed by a mile' mess really is my fault, then? But if it was, wouldn't you give me another chance to make up for it? Hypothetically? Cutting the 'it wouldn't work out between us, let's be friends' crap, because you and I both know that's just your protective instinct talking."

"…" blonde hair swept downward in the form of a ducked head, pregnant silence waiting in anticipation.

But she was still twisted to face him. Taking advantage of that knowledge he leaned into her shadow form, haloed by the light let in through the cracks, "Helga?"

Finally she spoke, words firm as the paved streets they'd grown up on, "I don't know if I could hypothetically let you be that close to me."

"_Helga_…" a frustrated groan rumbled against her back, and he removed one hand from her waist long enough to press his fingers to the growing headache between his eyes.

"Think about what you're asking me, for Chocolate's sake! To let someone in after I've been hurt as much as I have. And what's worse, you're pushing this right as my Ex broke out of prison. When he could come after those I care about, too," the hair was flung from her view, tossed backwards by a callous hand as she whipped herself into a fervor. Which abruptly ended as she was pulled close.

"Helga. Stop worrying about others, and start thinking about yourself," he interrupted gently, taking her face in his hands as he slowly lowered his to her, "what will make _you_ happy? What will make the loneliness go away?"

"Arnold, I…"

--

**AN:** Chapter conclusion: the Author is officially evil. :D At least oodles of progress was made. And the kisses being cut off is intentional, as mean as that seems. There's a purpose for it later. I really am sorry for taking so long, though--I pretty much rewrote parts of this two or three times, wasting a lot of paper, and I'm still not entirely satisfied. And then I lost my notes about halfway through, which was fun. –Smiles sarcastically.-

-Coughs- Well, on with the show. I should probably explain a few things that I haven't previously.

The twin children of Brainy and Nadine and their 'Aunt.' In my head I've always wondered how it was that Brainy could sneak up on Helga without ever being seen or heard (until the last minute), and in the most random places you can think of. He has natural ninja abilities, seriously. So, my mind did the fangirl thing and basically decided that he must be the younger brother to Bridget, and that she taught him her secret agent ways. Because I'm silly like that. And I like random details that come out of nowhere. This is, of course, what prompted me to make his children become the 'secret agents' of the group.

The pregnant thing-- You guys knew in chapter two or three, so if you're surprised about that…yeah. Go back and read the beginning again. –Shrugs-

Olga and Helga really do come from the same name root; I found out through a baby book. And I have a set of brothers who have the very same problem Helga and her sister do. The older brother of the two was named after a character from a really cool movie, and the younger brother was named after the older brother, with exception of a single letter change. And they have a similar relationship to the one Olga and Helga have. **Moral of the story:** Don't name kids, especially those that are not twins, similar names. It is very, very dumb. Especially in the long run.

And Freud really did do quite a bit explaining the basis behind specific disorders and feelings within a family relationship, but he was pretty much a perv. But another guy did more work on the subject, and created this really brilliant setup for parenting that explains more and is less messed up. But I can't seem to remember his name for the life of me. C'est la vie.

Oh, yeah. And Gerald and Phoebe are sneaky-awesome. ; That was one totally wicked rehearsed scene. Because you know Pheebs planned it all along.

(Oh, and find the movie quote if you can. It's not an obvious one, but those that know me will get it.)


	16. Chapter 16

Sunny Side Up

By Shahrezad1

Chapter 16

Sunny Side Up

By Shahrezad1

Summary: It's been years since the gang was together, and time's passed for everyone. As adults, can Arnold and Helga get past their pasts and finally see the bright side again? Rated for real themes and mischievous pranks.

Standard disclaimer applies. Don't own, just enjoy. End. This was written for kicks and giggles.

Chapter 16

**Warning: This chapter drags on, and on, and on…so you're either going to be really happy with me. Or really irritated. It all depends upon your outlook. Happy belated Holidays.**

_Previously, on Sunny Side Up…_

"_Think about what you're asking me, for Chocolate's sake! To let someone in after I've been hurt as much as I have. And what's worse, you're pushing this right as my Ex broke out of prison. When he could come after those I care about, too," the hair was flung from her view, tossed backwards by a callous hand as she whipped herself into a fervor. Which abruptly ended as she was pulled close._

"_Helga. Stop worrying about others, and start thinking about yourself," he interrupted gently, taking her face in his hands as he slowly lowered his to her, "what will make you happy? What will make the loneliness go away?" _

"_Arnold, I…"_

His breath warm on her lips, she felt the desire to move closer, bridging the gap that had been between them since childhood. Instead, his hands made the decision for her, brushing the softness of her cheek and slowly pulling her forward.

Only millimeters from one another, they were abruptly bathed in light, the closet door swinging open to reveal a very shocked young woman, wearing a clean apron and the burgundy-on-black uniform of all the restaurant/theatre's workers.

Unbidden, desperate giggles rose to Helga's mouth even as, sharing his own breathy laugh, Arnold dropped his head to Helga's shoulder, cursing karma.

"Miss…Sir! Um, the…the sign says _Employees Only_. I…um…you…" the young woman fidgeted with rising anxiety, eyes bouncing from the walls of the closet and on the door and ceiling—anything other than their position on the floor, painstakingly close. Her glasses even went so far as to fog, blush rising to drown freckled cheeks.

"We're going, we're going," laughter more pronounced, Helga carefully rose before passing her companion a hand up. Still sitting on the concrete floor, legs and rear numb, Arnold merely stared up at the woman of his dreams, silhouetted with light as she was.

And it was then that the old feeling came over him. The feeling of calm; of serenity. Of gentle happiness coming from being with someone who appreciated you, and whom you appreciated in turn.

He allowed her to help him up, and as he did Arnold nearly collapsed into her arms, limbs losing all feeling. The secretary remained silent and merely held him for a moment, cherishing their closeness. Before gently patting him on the back to indicate that they should move apart, the attendant at their side bouncing from one foot to the other with rising anxiety.

Straightening, all the blood within the thirty-year-old coursed back through his body with aching precision, covering his limbs with a pin-and-needle sensation; despite it all, he strove for none of his discomfort to show. The smirk on Helga's lips told him that he hadn't hid it well enough, but she remained politely silent as they were led back to their tables. Where a worried couple sat, Phoebe's brows pinched together even as her husband kept shooting the two of them suspicious looks.

They made their excuses and left, coats over arms. And as he escorted her to her car, the snow began to lightly fall. Dusting their hair and skin, and softening the words he whispered in her ear as Arnold tugged his old nemesis lightly back into his arms, four-fingered hands wrapped around her back and face buried in her hair.

"I know you're worried about Elena and I. And I know that you've still got a lot to go through, emotionally speaking. But…I want to be there. In case if something happens, or if you need help," the grip on her shoulders tightened a moment, and instantly warmth spread from the young mother's heart on to her fingertips, battling the snow, "I know you won't officially date me, but I would like it if we could at least spend time together preparing for the Social, and when Jonah and Elena get together to play."

A pause, then Arnold continued, "I can't _not_ be near you Helga. Even when we were kids it was like that, despite our outward relationship. Please let me at least be by your side."

"I…" stumbling over her words, Helga minutely froze. And in that minute a voice from a dream rang through her mind. Along with the sight of eyes full of remorse and anger; a daughter without a mother. And a youth whom had always cared about her, who had become a man, refined by fire.

"Fine, Football Head. You can be by my side. But if you start emulating Amazonian Leeches, I'm kicking you off of me like a pig skin on Thanksgiving Day."

"Okay, Helga. It's a deal."

----------------------------------------------------

_Several days later…_

It bore down on him, the weight of what he had done. To curse himself through his own words; being eternally relegated to the back seat. While at the same time hypothetically shooting himself in the foot. It was like he had branded himself in the forehead and everyone could see it.

_Arnold. The Friend._

He'd thumped his head so many times, and onto such a variety of different surfaces, that a bruise was starting to form within its center in an effort to take the place of his now-fading black eye.

It was a train wreck being played out within his mind, made up of every perfect romantic moment he could have ever thought up, only to end with a twist.

_"…I know you won't officially date me, but I would like it if we could at least spend time together…"_

And somehow the feeling was reminiscent…

"_It's not going to work out. So, thanks for the date and everything, but…yeah. I'll always be the Bully, you'll always be the Vic-Football Head…You're still in love with your wife. And my Ex is going to come after both you and your daughter if we become close."_

A remembrance of the last time he'd felt the way he currently did came back in a wash. As well as the circumstances, which he'd now placed himself back into. 'Two steps forward, one step back,' or so they said. And as much as he wanted to plow on forward, she still wasn't ready for that. Still, ever onward the mantra continued.

_Dumb. Dumb. Dumb._

And apparently his daughter agreed with the sentiment.

"I don't see why I have to come," the petulant tone and the crossed arms that confronted him when he turned around to face the stairs, ready to leave for yet one last task, were frustrating yet routine for the young father. Because, while one hand he'd come to expect the attitude as his daughter's normal state of being, the other had been hoping that with her recent emotional change she'd drop the 'tude,' so to speak.

"We're just going shopping for some decorations. It won't take too long, and we'll be meeting up with Helg-Ms. Billings later," irritated with his own slip of the tongue, Arnold bit back a frustrated sigh. With all that had occurred, and his own thoughtless step backward (understandably placed for Helga's well-being, but maddening nonetheless), he would have to learn to see her in a professional light for the time being.

Even if it killed him.

The girl brightened, but for such a short second that he wasn't sure if he had actually seen her do so, or he'd only imagined the change. He didn't have long to ponder the switch, however, before she was quick to flip the sarcasm back on, accented by a pointed eye roll, "Fine. I'll be your stupid sha-sha-chaperone."

"Learned that one from the triplets, didn't you?" the question was paired with a deadpan expression. To which he only received an impudent grin, "fine, fine. I'll be right back-I forgot my wallet."

"Wouldn't want to forget something like that," was the short response.

As soon as her father was gone, however, the girl was quick to drop the façade. Immediately pounding down the rest of the stairs to claim the downstairs phone for herself, the ancient contraption placed within an old fashioned phone-box in the hall. A single short call later she was back where she had been, the adult none the wiser.

The smile she sent him existed on a plane of innocence not humanly possible, and it was this very paragon-like expression that set off the warning bells within his mind.

A shiver went down the young father's spine.

"On second thought, why don't I call up Gerald and see if he wouldn't mind having one more person over?"

Arnold continued on his way, alone. His mind wound itself in numerous circles and spirals, searching for a loophole for all the confusion within his mind. But all that seemed to occur was that he wound himself further within his own worries; tangling up hopes and fears together so that he couldn't tell where one ended and the next began.

It all seemed to culminate in a single form; snarky and sarcastic. Strangely enough, the confusion and worry resting upon him currently seemed more than vaguely familiar (not counting their last bungled altercation), and it took seeing her garishly pink car for him to realize that it was much the same way he'd felt when they were younger.

Arnold parked the car in the supermarket parking lot and sighed.

Their task for today was to finalize the remaining needs for the Winter Social. A seemingly simple task, but somehow a part of him knew something was going to happen, to make it more difficult than it needed to be. Be it Murphy's law, fate, or even Karma. Something always seemed to occur when they were together.

And Elena's smile still bothered him for some reason.

He found Helga standing in the store's gift-card section, silently flipping open each card one by one. Free hand tucked into casual jeans, her t-shirt was bland and distinctly un-date-like, long hair were pulled up and out of the way into a ponytail. Her reactions varied between disgusted, amused, and inspired. All emotions presented silently for his perusal; she having an unknowing audience.

Simply watching the blonde before him, Arnold mused once again on the Fort Knox her personality was made up of. There would always be moments like this, when she would temporarily reveal her true feelings. But then she'd clam up, locking once again around the pearl that was her soul.

But it only made the former moments that much sweeter.

He just wished he hadn't wasted his chance when he was younger. It seemed as though he'd discarded his cards before he'd even got a chance to play, to be truthful. The cards removed from his hand every single round.

Sighing, the single father made his presence known with a simple clearing of his throat. Helga's reaction was immediate, the smile on her face spontaneous and youthful, regardless of the worry that continued to press upon them both. Unnoticed, Arnold's breath caught in his throat. Luckily or unluckily, she stifled the extreme emotion in favor of a simpler, friendly smile, and put back the card she'd been reading. A hand-basket sat at her feet, ready and waiting for their adventure to start.

He picked it up without thought.

"So, Football-head, you ready to shop your heart out?" her expression wasn't quite as nonchalant as it seemed, and the teacher realized that a small amount of hesitancy was coloring the words, despite the exuberance of her tone.

_She doesn't know how to pick things up. To react based on the knowledge we have of the past. And my reaction to her decision that we only be friends._

A large part of him still rebelled at the idea, but the majority knew that there was no stopping Helga G. Pataki Billings once she'd made up her mind. He would take what he could get, for now. And then, after finding an indispensible place within her heart, their relationship would slowly change.

He knew it.

Maybe.

"Shop our hearts out? I don't think the budget will cover all the school supplies I could ever want. And that's not to mention all the stuff for Elena and Jonah," so became his response. A neutral one, but she brightened infinitesimally.

"Doi! I think I kind of figured that one, Arnold," an unwarranted blush came to his cheeks as she said his name offhandedly. His real name, "still, it'll be an adventure finding what we need."

The required list that they had compiled what seemed like ages ago was drawn from his pocket, folded in four and slightly worse for wear, "well, I shouldn't think it'll be too difficult. I mean, most of what we have left is pretty basic."

She drew the page from his hand, and as she did their arms accidentally brushed. Helga's face was immediately covered by the offending paper, but Arnold was left to awkwardly blush once again, with no cover.

"It's a pretty basic bunch of crap," the pale woman responded eventually, "but it's stuff we're more likely to find at a party store, not a supermarket. Still, you're mostly right--they shouldn't be that hard to find."

"Glad to see you're agreeing with me for once," the words popped from his mouth before self control could censor them, but apparently she took them the way he'd intended, if her wry smile was any indication.

"Yeah, yeah, Football-Head. Don't make a big deal of something simple. C'mon," the slim hand that wrapped itself around his (currently encumbered by the hand basket as it was) was more welcome than he would ever admit. But before he could have a chance to cherish the experience, they were off.

"It says that we need cups, plates, silverware, and several tablecloths. Especially for the tables we're going to be using for display booths. Who knows what kind of stains will get on them, what with the children manning each display? We'll probably be safe with white ones, since they'll be easier to find. That means we'll be going for blue and/or clear plastic cups and utensils."

"Those might be a little hard to find," was his muttered realization as Arnold abruptly found himself surrounded in red and green, down the silverware aisle.

Blue eyes met green in an ironic smirk, "which is exactly what I just said a minute ago. Glad to know you're agreeing with me for once."

"Yeah, yeah," rolled eyes were her only response, before her companion continued onward, "regardless, I think our situation isn't too terrible. These might actually work nicely."

His large, three-fingered (plus thumb) hand reached out to grab a stack of blue-on-white patterned plates, when they were abruptly snatched out from under his grip. Glancing down, the teacher was surprised to find himself meeting the gaze of a girl with wavy, sand-blonde hair and solemn, bespectacled eyes.

"Oh, Deliah, not that one. Could you grab the--oh! Hello, Arnold," the ramble of words petered off as the girl's mother saw him, her own extremely curly hair offset by skin the color of toffee, "What a coincidence running into you here. Sorry for getting in your way, by the way. We're just preparing for a family dinner. Deliah, take a step back for Mr. Babcock, please."

The face that met his was achingly familiar, but it wasn't until she'd said her daughter's name that everything came rushing back. Deliah was a second grader, and the daughter of Nadine and…

"Brian! There you are. Did you find the seasoning I was looking for?" the slim man, towering half a foot above his shorter wife, answered her query with simple heavy breathing and a shake of his head. Her own response was unconcerned, "oh, well. We'll just have to find it somewhere else. Oh, and you wouldn't believe who I ran into! Arnold and a friend of his!"

"Helga," the word was breathy and forced. Several feet away Helga, who had been ignoring Arnold's conversation in favor of comparing plate sizes, unconsciously swung her right hand up into a fist. Meeting air and nothing else. Blinking, the secretary turned only to gape, blank-faced at the couple before them, their children at their sides.

_When did that boy get there…?_ The thought entered Arnold's mind for but a single moment. Nadine's reaction distracted him from following it.

"Oh, Helga! I didn't even realize that was you. And," wide eyes glanced from the woman across from her to her oblong-headed companion, causing a grin to blossom, "I didn't realize that you and Arnold were together. Congratulations!"

The startlement on Helga's face immediately became a blush. And while Arnold's immediate reaction had been to dissuade the idea, he stifled it in favor of watching his old nemesis's reaction. He didn't mind the assumption, after all, so that meant it fell to her to proclaim the truth.

Which she did vehemently, but unconvincingly (he decided in his biased opinion), "No! Nonono. No. Um, we're…we're just working on a project for work. Um, school. The dance for PS118."

"Oh," the mother of three (where did that baby come from, tucked away in the crook of it's father's arm?) deflated visibly, before pasting a smile back on her face, "really? That's too ba--I mean, that's interesting. Sorry for my mistake, it's just," she turned to her husband, at a loss for words, but he had none to give her, "we always thought that the two of you would get together. Growing up, I mean. That's all."

"_What?_" the word was exclaimed in stereo, as the two coworkers stared at the couple.

"Yeah," embarrassment took on a puzzled tone, and the darker-skinned woman retrieved their youngest child from Brainy's arms. He immediately settled his now-empty arms on her waist, head propped on Nadine's shoulder so that his light breathing could be clearly heard, "didn't you know? We all thought you'd get together when we were kids."

Helga was the first to recover, plates returned to the shelf as she utilized her fingers for quotation purposes, "who is this 'we' you speak of?"

A blink, then two, "Rhonda, Sheena, and Lila. Even Patty."

"None of the guys?"

"Well," a glance was shared between the married couple, and a subtle nod given, "Brian did. But then, he's always been more observant than most people. All he sees is the positive, which is what I love about him. And the fact that he listens so well," smiling dreamily, the young mother abruptly blushed upon realizing where they were, and who they were talking to.

Her husband just smiled shortly before solemnly meeting Arnold's eyes. Then pointedly glancing in Helga's direction, eyebrow arched.

Slightly confused, Arnold merely nodded and Brainy once again became serene.

"Well, I think we need to be going. It was nice seeing the two of you again, and good luck with your…project," the smile was polite as Nadine shepherded her embarrassment away, and with it her collective family, "come along, you guys. We've still got to go home and get things ready for Aunt Bridget coming over."

Quiet assent was her only response, the tall professor giving them an over-the-shoulder wave before he followed his wife, disappearing around the corner.

Silence followed in their wake, as Helga furiously snatched up several sets of chosen dishware. Arnold elected to remain wordless for several minutes before finally asking a single question.

"Um. So. Rhonda, Sheena, Nadine, Lila, and Patty?"

"What of it, Football-Head?" was her dry response, "you already know that I like-liked you when we were younger; do you really think it would have escaped other people's notice as well? And just to remind you, pre-adolescent school girls aren't exactly the best judges of character."

"I know, I know. I'm just making note of it. Being an interesting fact," she shot him a bland, slightly disgruntled look. Arnold met it with an innocent, blank one, "although I am curious about the look Brainy gave me."

"Yeah, well, whatever it was, I wouldn't trust it."

"Why?"

"He was my personal stalker growing up, so who knows what was on his mind. It seemed like every time I turned around, or thought I had a moment to…ah. Never mind."

"'Thought you had a moment to'?"

"Drop it, Hair-Boy."

"Okay, okay."

"C'mon, let's go get that tinfoil," and she once again had him by the wrist, leading him pleasantly onward.

"I think the baking aisle is that way," pointing to the right, they exited only to enter a new row minutes later.

Her hand dragging him along didn't dissuade him from continuing to talk, however, "hey, was it just me or did their kids kind of…pop into existence, by the way?"

A smirk popped up, dispensing some of the irritation, "like ninjas, you mean?"

"I was going to say secret agents, but yeah."

His shrug was caught by Helga's knowing eyes, and automatically she barked out a laugh and continued onward, "those would be Deliah and Jonathan. From what I've heard from Bliss they're notorious in PS118. Apparently their Aunt works for the FBI, so that plus their father's…inquisitive nature makes for an interesting combo."

"They looked a lot like their parents," the wistful tone in her companion's voice caused one half of her brow to rise.

"You really like kids, don't you?"

"Given my profession, you mean?" her old victim smirked ironically, catching her off guard. A flush colored pale cheeks.

"Yeah."

"Well," the comment provoked thoughtful silence and, unnoticed by either, Helga's grip softened at his wrist, absently rubbing the pulse she could distantly feel. His green eyes were somewhat melancholy as they thought back on a much happier time, "we never intended for Elena to be an only child. I think, if given the chance," she blushed slightly, for no reason, "I'd definitely have more kids. At least two, even with the ten year difference between them and Elena."

"Hmm," unnoticed, Helga's shoulders seemed to tighten, monobrow furrowed in thought.

"What about you?" his question seemed to startle her from her stupor, so much that the hand gripping his jerked minutely.

"Oh! Um, well," neutral nonchalance slowly drifted into worried melancholy, her free hand rising in an unconscious echo of his own nervous habit, rubbing the back of her head, "I really don't know. I mean, I haven't exactly had the best track record when it comes to sibling relationships. And Jonah seems pretty happy as an only child. I guess it all depends on how he feels about it. And I especially wouldn't want to adopt a child with me being a single mother. It's a hard enough situation for Jonah, much less another child that's already gone for a long time without parents, period. It wouldn't be fair to throw them into a one-parent household, I guess."

Suddenly realizing what she had just said, and to whom, Helga's eyes widened dramatically, form whirling around to meet Arnold's slightly stricken gaze, "look, Arnold, I'm sorry for saying that. I didn't mean--."

"It's okay, Helga," his words were soothing and calm. It was, after all, an old wound, and he was a long ways away from the child he'd once been, "I know you were just thinking aloud. And you're right--that wouldn't be fair for an orphaned kid to be adopted, only to find out that they only get one parent, not two," some of his mischief came sparking back, "so you'd probably have to make sure that they came home to a two-parent household, right?"

"Two paren--? _Arnold!_" he was summarily smacked, which somehow couldn't dent the smile on his face.

They continued. And it was in their rush to find the next item in their treasure hunt that they turned a corner…

…and Helga Pataki Billings ran smack dab into one of the richest women in the city, bedecked in a tailored red business jacket and black pencil skirt, hand tucked in the arm of her jeans-and-tee-shirt-clad husband.

"Hey, watch where you're going, you--! Helga? Arnold?"

The strident, gossipy tones had an instantaneous effect on the duo in the form of mutual blanching and immediate dodging backwards, Helga's hand dropping from Arnold's wrist to grip the other side of the hand-basket he'd been holding. Hoping against hope that Rhonda wouldn't notice the switch, but to no avail.

"It is so great to see the two of you, really! It seems as though Curly and I only ever run into the old gang when I'm doing business, or when Meredith is in trouble," a subtle nod recognizing Arnold's control over her daughter's educational future. Helga resisted the urge to roll her eyes, "yet somehow things work out and here we are, at the supermarket together!"

Slight distaste worked its way into her words at the mention of the public place, despite the perky tone.

"Hey Rhonda, it's…great to see you too. Sort of. But, if you don't mind the clichéd reference," Helga immediately dove in, more than done with reunions, "what's a girl like you doing in a place like this? I mean, grocery shopping has never been your cup of tea, really, and don't you have servants or something that typically do it for you?"

The relieved smile on Rhonda's face immediately dropped the social barriers between them a notch, and the air became more comfortable. After all, her status had been recognized, and now that the social niceties had been cut short she could somewhat speak freely. It was one of those few things Rhonda had always envied in her old competition: Helga's ability to be blunt without anyone the wiser.

"Actually, you're quite correct in that aspect--this isn't normally my 'thing,' as Meredith likes to say. But she requested I pick up some items for a project she's working on, and I figured that if it was for school then it was worth the sacrifice."

(The two single parents exchanged a confused glance, not remembering any project being assigned.)

Next to the dramatic woman her husband began to sway, and automatically her hand swung out to clutch his shoulder, freezing Curly where he stood.

It wasn't until this act that they even noticed the man's presence, much less his disheveled appearance, black hair (cut into a stylishly choppy form, at his wife's command no doubt) limp and dry, clothing lightly wrinkled, and eyes determinedly at half-mast.

"Um, is Curly doing alright?" Arnold was quick to speak what they both had been thinking.

"He's fine," Rhonda merely brushed the question off before abruptly changing the subject, "I see that the two of you are together now," she said, indicating the shared basket they held. Immediately Helga removed her helping grip, nearly sending her companion to the floor with the sudden full height he had to bear, "although you might want to exchange that for a cart, all things considered."

"But, oh! How I love 'Love-Hate' relationships! I've written several books with that as the main theme, to be truthful," the woman confided discretely, batting her eyelashes at the two of them, but mostly towards Helga's male companion, "I mean, it just brings me back to fourth grade when I used to avoid Curly-Darling at all costs, knowing that it would only make him come after me more. Children are so funny sometimes."

Helga was quick to point out the truth.

"Rhonda--you _did_ hate Curly. And Arnoldo and I _aren't_ together."

"Nonsense!" two bejeweled arms were flung wide as the woman wrapped herself around her husband. The vague smile on his face shifted to a predatory one as the eccentric businessman returned the favor, planting himself against his wife and tangling one hand in her long, dark hair.

Arnold and Helga turned away in unison, staring at anything and everything till the couple finally broke apart.

"I have always cared for Thaddeus. I just didn't have the emotional maturity at the time to express it. Much like you and Arnold, with you always bullying him. You know what they say about children that pick on one another, after all," the smile on the female mogul's face was innocent, but the sparkle in her eyes contained pure mischief. Instantly a blush fought its way to Helga's cheeks.

"We never--!"

"Oh, look! Here's one of mine," propped up on a stand a few feet away several novels were presented upon a stand, and in a studiedly casual move the svelte brunette turned and reached with one manicured hand to lift a paperback romance from the grocery story shelf, shoving the story into Helga's hands before she could blink, "this is one of my favorites. It's called 'The Poem,' and it's a story about a couple who's so-called hate slowly turns into love over time. The characters are two I truly enjoy--Hugo and Alice*."

Helga's shock could be felt from several feet away, but Arnold couldn't help the grin that came to him as she was faced with Rhonda's 'truth.'

"You wrote a book about us?!"

Effrontery somehow was made beautiful on the face of Rhonda Lloyd-Gamelthorpe, "how dare you say such a thing, Helga! I know we can't all be as creative as you, but I'll have you know that all my stories are purely original. Didn't you read the inside cover? It says that the names and locations are purely fictitious."

" 'Alice' has a football-shaped head!" the cover was held up for the group to see, and to the blonde man's surprise, he found a feminized version of himself staring back from the paper's surface. Meanwhile Hugo was a small step from Helga herself; hair cut, form straight and thin, but sarcastic expression still the same.

"And what do you mean, 'we can't all be as creative as you'?" apparently the secretary wasn't finished with being insulted.

Large, dark eyes stared back with the innocence of an ingénue, "that book of poems you wrote in college, of course. We went through the same publisher, and when I saw the name 'Pataki' I knew I just had to read it. It wasn't until I got through the first page that I realized that it was you, though. And it truly was a wise decision to write under your maiden name--there aren't many authors with names that start with 'P,' so it was far easier to find than if you had published it under 'Billings.'"

The anger had turned to pure shock, and unconsciously her football-headed companion placed a hand on her shoulder to steady her as Helga began to sway, "you've read…my poems…"

"Well, of course! It was the least I could do for an old schoolmate. And they really were incredibly inspiring," mischievous eyes dropped to the novel still in Helga's hands, before Rhonda winked conspiratorially.

Before anyone could say anything more, however, Curly began to collapse at his wife's side. He'd fallen asleep standing, form swinging to the side as a loud snore ripped through the din of the supermarket.

"Is he…okay?" Arnold voiced, seeking a reprieve for Helga by suddenly changing the subject. The socialite didn't seem to mind.

"Oh, yes. Thaddeus has just been up late lately on a project he's been working on--a Freeze Ray!" the mother of one beamed proudly.

"A…freeze ray?" Arnold's brows shot up in surprise as he sent an evaluating look in the direction of his old peer, currently dozing. Rhonda construed it to be a different expression.

"Oh, it's not a Death Ray, or an Ice Ray, or anything. That's something Johnny Snow would make, but not my Curly. The Freeze Ray just stops the world, one person at a time. And it's only temporary."

"Ah. Interesting. Well, Helga and I need to get going, sooo…"

"I understand. In any case, it was wonderful talking to the two of you. Let me know when you plan to make things final--just like I predicted so long ago," she waved them away, arms once again wrapped around her husband, but this time in an effort to keep him standing, "and remember--Freeze Ray! Tell your friends."

They stood in silence for several moments before either spoke.

"So…do I have a huge sign on my back that says 'Humiliate Me,' or what?"

"If you do," Arnold shook his head in exasperation, "I must as well. Man, talk about bizarre."

"No kidding," the woman snatched up several heavy duty rolls of tinfoil and tossed them into the basket Arnold still held, "c'mon, let's go. We still have to grab the tablecloths."

"Right," they retreated to the aisle they'd formerly resided just minutes before, table covering unnoticed due to their previous distraction with Brainy and Nadine's family. Silent, the duo compared lengths and styles before deciding on one together, grabbing several packages of them for all the tables.

The act brought Rhonda's words back to Arnold, basket steadily gaining weight in his hands, "you know, Rhonda was right."

"About what?" wariness rose along with half of her monobrow.

He blinked, "the fact that we need a cart. This is getting pretty heavy."

"Oh," the tension in her form abruptly dropped, relaxing her form dramatically. Helga barked out a short laugh.

"What's so funny?"

"Sorry," slim fingers pinched between her closed eyes, "I thought you were going to say that we had a 'love-hate relationship' or something."

"Well, we did. And do."

The secretary gaped at his candor, while Arnold merely smiled pleasantly, "but saying so would only be stating the obvious. And I didn't want a repeat of our last two conversations."

The blonde woman couldn't help but chuckle wryly.

"Speaking of which…poetry? You really published some of your work?"

His question, coming from out of the blue, caught Helga unaware, "yeah, so? What's so surprising about that?"

"Nothing. I just," a shrug, "didn't realize that you'd published anything, is all. I mean, growing up you were always so secretive about what you wrote, so…" another upward lift of his shoulders, which was a rather significant feat, given the load he was carrying.

"Well, what's a literature major going to do? Write reports on the Pythagorean Theorem?" her back was turned to the teacher, and so all he had to go by was her pose and the tone of her voice for emphasis. She seemed almost wistful, missing that long-ago creative outlet as the trials of single motherhood replaced old dreams with new responsibilities.

"I thought you were a business major?"

"I am--I double-majored."

"And the boxing?"

Here her response became sheepish and, turning to face him, it was like watching the old schoolgirl Helga, nervous and awkward. She played with a piece of her hair absently, blushing as she eventually came up with an answer, "that was mostly so I'd feel…safe. My therapist actually recommended it. But after a while, I found that there was a scholarship for it through the state, and then…" the grown mother smiled sheepishly; sweetly.

Arnold's own beaming grin dispelled any awkwardness on her part, however, leaving Helga once again relaxed in his presence.

A grin which made complete sense, she realized. Because out all of the people she had ever known, Arnold was the one least likely to condemn her for her actions, especially as they were necessary for survival. Even if it meant that she had knocked heads for a temporary living, and remained with scarred knuckles for life. He would still accept her, and care for her. His acceptance was never-ending, just as the way he made her feel was a constant flow of sunshine, leaving her comforted, loved, and befriended.

It was part of why she loved him.

Had loved him, her mind quickly corrected itself, catching the slip. Still, the thought was fully formed, and even though she'd fixed the mistake, its significance weighed down on her like a ton of bricks; filled with seeming harmless impending doom. Especially in light of the positive feelings she couldn't help but hold tight to.

"So not only did you get good at protecting yourself, but in doing so you essentially paid your own way through school? No wonder you were able to double-major," the football-shaped head tilted as an absent thought rose to the surface for rebirth, "And that also explains why Jonah wrote what he did."

A warm feeling of appreciation and geniality took over Helga's form for a moment and something simple clicked into place. A 'something' that had been shifting over course of the past few weeks and had paused, poised above its rightful place until just the right moment. Only to drop into spot when least expected, like a puzzle piece lost and found under a couch cushion a year later; so firmly planted that even adulthood's cynicism couldn't shake it loose. Still, the withdrawn woman drew her walls around her and made a point to ignore the new feeling's existence.

Helga grabbed several large bags of mixed silverware from a standing bin, and once again attached herself to her companion's wrist, "yeah, yeah. We all know what a great mom I am. Now let's get going before another annoying person appears offering a free ride on the 'flashback train.'"

"Whatever you say, Helga," Arnold laughed.

The silence between them fell like the last curtain call; sudden but not unexpected. Still it remained comfortable between the former foes, despite the surprising events existing before.

A laugh burst from Helga despite herself, head slowly shaking with the irony of it all.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just," she paused, licking lips in a way that couldn't help but remind Arnold of a quill being dipped in ink, ready to write, "I just think it's interesting, that's all. Because with everything happening, just running into the wrong people at the wrong time and stuff like that, it just seems like someone 'higher up' has really got some sort of grudge against us."

"I mean, so far we've run into two blasts from the past. Both moving on, going forward with their lives and onto happy experiences. Yet it seems like you and I, we're in the 'Two steps forward, one step back' situation."

Arnold almost missed as a step as Helga echoed his own mental thought.

"It's kind of like Monopoly. 'Do not pass GO, do not collect two hundred dollars.' Like Providence is laughing at us, just waiting for one or the other to make the wrong move. To suddenly have one of us find happy, only to have everything come crashing down at the last minute."

The school teacher shot his companion a wry glance, one brow jerked up to a legendary level of sarcasm, "that's a little on the negative side, don't you think Helga? I mean, bad things happen to good people all the time, but it doesn't mean that they're being punished. Or that they've got targets painted on their foreheads."

"Speak for yourself," a snort took in the bruise he'd inflicted upon himself. Arnold flushed, "all things considered, you have to at least admit that the timing is at least horrible. I mean, just when Jonah and I get all settled in, and it seems like I can move past Elliot," she abruptly coughed, hurrying past the subject, "andhisabuse, this comes up. And then Brainy and Rhonda suddenly come along without warning. Doesn't it seem more than a little taunting?"

"Sort of. But I like to see it as an opportunity to take vicarious enjoyment in their happiness. To know that at least those I care about are taken care of."

"Ever the optimist, Arnold."

"Someone's gotta do it. And besides, what would you do if things started going well for you?"

"What?" blinking rapidly at his sudden switch, Helga brought them both to a stop, "what are you talking about?"

"If given the chance," her longtime peer spoke slowly, as though explaining an extensive mathematical equation to a small child, "And if you and Jonah somehow remain in Hillwood until he's grown," an elegant shrug, "what would you do? With your life."

His question didn't garner the response he was expecting.

"I don't know. What would you do?" She deflected the question with ease and practice, used to turning personal questions away, much to his ire.

A frustrated huff, "Helga. I'm sure you've at least thought about it."

The blonde woman nodded grudgingly, hiding her expression momentarily behind side-swept bands as she searched her mind, "yeah. Of course I have. But dreams are like pearls. Don't you know that? As soon as you think you have one, it slips through your fingers. 'Pearls before Swine,' and all that jazz."

A smile tugged at Arnold's lips, "so you're calling me a pig, then? Not worthy of knowing the divine thoughts within?"

"No! Just…," a three-fingered hand was thrown dramatically into the air and for a second Arnold bore the brunt of the basket on his own. Thankfully it swiftly returned, "…you go first, okay. I'm just…not used to all the 'sharing' we've been doing lately. It's like you've been channeling Bliss or something."

"Harmony," he corrected absently, "but okay, I'll play my hand first. And actually, she has a large part in what I hope to do."

"Which is?"

"A charter school. Or at least a private school, funded through charitable donations and careful investments," green literally glowed as his eyes filled with his vision for the future. A future he passionately hoped would come to fruition.

"It will specialize in helping those children with a lack of parental interaction in their lives, through either environmental circumstances or loss. So children who have lost one or more parents, such as in the aftermath of September 11th, orphans with no hope for an education, or those with parents in the military, have the chance to cope in a healthy, care-free environment. With unconditional love from a family-like setup of faculty and staff."

By this point the teacher had started to get feverishly worked up with the idea, halting the duo halfway into their path toward the front. Not that Helga noticed nor minded, blue eyes stubbornly fixed on the green ones passionately gazing back.

"Harmony and I have been working on the idea for some time, actually."

"Seriously?" was the impressed response, Helga intently listening as the potential started sparking ideas within her mind. For fund raisers and other activities similar to the Winter Social they were working on currently. With Arnold anything was possible.

No, with her and Arnold together, anything was possible. She felt like the two of them could do anything, just like old times. The sky was the limit.

"How long have the two of you been working on this idea?"

"Since my first year of teaching," deeply immersed in both the past and future, Arnold missed Helga's reaction to his next words, "we just got to talking about certain kids we'd run into growing up, who had had a single-parent household. Or who'd had neglectful parents. And we even talked about the way I had felt, never knowing what had happened to my parents. And how if it hadn't have been for my grandparents, and Mr. Simmons, strangely enough," the lightly graying man laughed, shaking his head lightly, "I probably would have turned out differently. Despite an inherent positive outlook."

His teasing smile brought a tiny one to her own face, before she moved on, watching his features with a calmness uncharacteristic of the Helga he knew.

"So what happened? Did you make a petition? Sign a protest? Try to find benefactors that would back you? Whatever it was, I'm sure it was good," her smile turned gently teasing, blue eyes curling upwards with good humor, "you never do anything halfway."

"Actually," he faked a tight smile, "nothing really came of it. Not yet, anyway."

"What happened?" surprise, Helga's face dropped into a black expression, one half of the secretary's unibrow rose in a confused question.

"Life happened."

"_Oh._"

"Yeah. Well, since then things have gone rather slowly. It's hard to get up the drive to work on something, when you hardly have the drive to get out of bed in the morning, much less go to work and handle a gaggle of kids," the twist of his lips was bittersweet, and Helga's eyes softened with an echoing ache.

"And now? Are things a little easier now?"

"A bit," the teacher seemed almost surprised with his own answer, shoulders dropping in a minuscule bit of relief as he leaned against one of the many metal shelves, careful not to knock any product down, "things have been…easier, lately. I haven't been as tired. And the kids…haven't been as rowdy."

"They're probably too wrapped up in their own mischief…" the single mother grumped half-heartedly. He continued as though he hadn't even heard her.

"And despite everything, I haven't given up. Where there's a will, there's a way. Even if it takes years, I'm still not going to give up my dream. And until then, well, I'll just do the best I can with the means I have."

" '_The crop we are going to raise is a profitable one,'_ right?"

"Sorry?" a questioning, confused look was her only response.

"_Little Women._ Jo's heart is open and so full of love that she wants nothing more than to bring in all the motherless boys in the world into her heart, and to make a home for them within her own."

"I think I remember that she ends up marrying a widower."

"Arnold!" one slim shoulder slammed punishingly into his own, so that for a moment the duo became suspended in air, liable to topple. Gravity even itself out, and they soon found balance before a fiasco could occur, "any more comments like that I'm sending you to the car."

"Okay, okay. I give."

"Good," an eye roll more than conveyed her feelings on the matter.

"So, what are your dreams?"

"What are you talking about, Football Head?"

One free hand pointed itself at his chest as the elementary teacher slowly spelled things out, "I told you about what I wanted to do. It's your turn now. 'Pearls before Swine.'"

"I didn't promise you anything."

"Helga!"

"What? You didn't think I would just hand it to you on a platter?"

"_Helga._" The disapproval in his voice deepened it several octaves. And it was this scolding tone that broke the camel's back.

"Okay, fine. But only if you buy me ice cream."

"Done."

Her single brow furrowed in disbelief, "That was a little too easy, if you ask me."

He was leading her to the frozen foods section before she had finished speaking, "what? Were you wanting to extract something more from me instead?"

"Maybe a hidden secret of some sort, that you've never told anyone before? I feel like we're playing truth or dare for some reason."

The taller of the two came to an abrupt stop, sending Helga careening into his arms, one hand still clamped on the basket they shared. But the single woman's mind wasn't on that as she found herself under the very direct gaze of a certain Arnold Phillip Babcock, expression suddenly fiercely intent.

"Maybe it's a good thing you didn't chose a real dare…"

Just as suddenly he drew away, taking her breath with him, much to her flustered exasperation. Loose tendrils of blonde hair were huffed away as Helga had no choice but to follow in her old playmate's wake, connected as she was via basket.

"So…pearls?"

"Right!" a delicate cough, "well, I figure I can make bookoo bucks just writing my life away, so becoming an author again is a definite priority. And I figure I can probably also get paid to let people know what idiots they are--I mean, Pheebs does it, why not me?"

"Be serious, Helga."

"Well, you did ask me about my dreams. I could always tell you about the one with the giant purple hippo."

"Helga, if you don't tell me I'm going to track Brainy and Nadine down and tell them we really eloped in Las Vegas, and that you're pregnant with Siamese triplets."

It was the complete deadpan manner in which Arnold laid his cards down that made her pause. And the arch of his brow that made her believe him, "you really would do that, wouldn't you?"

"Let me remind you. Rhonda, Sheena, Nadine, Lila, and Patty all thought we'd get together," each of the names were ticked off on his fingers, a pause punctuating each one, "To them it wouldn't be a big surprise."

"I hate you."

"No you don't."

He'd called her bluff, and a smirk worked its way to her lips despite self-control, "…you're right, I don't. But I'm seriously thinking about putting rotten eggs in your car right about now."

"Where would you even get those from?"

"I have my sources."

"Helga. Just answer the da--just answer the question, already," as abruptly as it had begun, the playing ended. Helga dropped her eyes as she began to play with a single lock of pale hair, so very different from the straw-like bristles she'd sported so long ago.

A lot had changed, in all honesty.

"I want to be a social worker. Or a guidance counselor. Something down in the nitty-grittiest levels of the Division of Child and Family Services," the surprise must have shown on his face, because it was at this moment that Helga, ex-bully, ex-victim, and ex-boxer, paused, nodding grimly, "Something that makes you come to work every day having to fight a dragon, and even if you fail you've never felt more alive in your life. Because you know you can't give up. Because there are others relying on you. Waiting for you, to save them from a fate worse than death. That's my dream. To get every man or woman that's ever hurt a child, and give them their just deserts. I want to be justice, and I want to be comfort."

"'_I am the Terror that stalks in the Night?'_"

"Exactly. I always thought Batman was more truthful to the occupation than Superman."

"Thanks," sarcasm really wasn't his forte, Helga mused absently, choosing to give him a lesson in the proper manner and usage of the sardonic word.

"'Truth, Justice, and the American Way?' Tell me that's not cheesy. Or bigheaded."

"Well, he was created in the forties and fifties."

"Still. I mean, the only good ones had Dean Caine in then. Christopher Reeve, too," thinking back on her movie collection at home, Helga made concessions for two of the many portrayals.

"What, no Smallville? What about the new movies?" a teasing note entered Arnold's words as he poked his female companion in the side, taking slight glee out of watching her squirm.

"Nope, nope. You've got to be discerning when it comes to these things."

"And Batman, then?" a double set of eyebrows wiggled inquisitively.

"Michael Caine, and the voice actor that pulled off the animated version from when we were kids. But only them," a sidewise grin tugged at her lips, "and maybe Christian Bale. But only without a shirt."

"Ah! Well, I see how it is!" huffing out a dramatic sigh, the forthcoming eye roll was almost expected, Arnold's shoulders rising in an indignant gesture involving a whole lot of arm movement and not a lot of point.

Helga just tossed him a sultry smile, completely out of place among the frozen foods, batting eyelashes in a determinedly Marilyn Monroe style, "well, girls at my age have to get their eye candy somewhere."

The hand immediately went to his heart, invisible arrow shot straight through,

"Ouch! That's really how you feel about me, then. I'm just some stand in for a big-shot movie star!"

"Or at least an animated movie star anyway," was her teasing, low-voiced response, slim three-fingered hand resting delicately on his chest for a flicker of time, "sorry, Arnold, I guess the truth just hurts. But if the world didn't suck we'd all fall off."

"Oooh. Bad pun."

"Are there any good ones? Now let's get out of this place, do I have to be cold inside and out of the building?"

"You're the one that wanted ice cream."

The secretary exchanged words in favor of action, and the two singles soon found themselves standing in line at the checkout counter. Helga was filling out the tax exemption information needed as Arnold started slowly filling the conveyer belt with their items. It was as he was thus bending that his eyes landed on a sight that filled him with sudden anxiety, form frozen mid turn as light horror dispelled any geniality he might have felt.

"Um, Helga?"

"One second, Teacher-Guy, I'm busy here."

"Helga."

His second prompt she ignored entirely as the cashier asked to see her drivers license and tax exemption card, given to her by the school.

"_Helga,_" this time he emphasized his words with a gentle tug of her sleeve, still slightly ducked behind a display.

Irritation pulled at delicate features, furrowing her unibrow as she finally looked in his direction, "what do you want, Football-Head? Can't you see I'm busy here!"

"Look," the hand on her chin brought her to attention, but it was the pointing finger that attracted her gaze. To the three separate couples coming their way, women chattering like magpies as their husbands followed in companionable silence.

"Ah, _shi--_."

The clang of a sale being totaled deafened Helga's expletive. But it didn't hide them from being seen.

The redhead spotted them first, much to their combined dismay.

"Helga! Arnold! Oh, it's ever-so wonderful seeing the two of you here! And I am so glad that you're feeling better, Helga. You've got a lot of color in your cheeks," Lila rushed up to the line the single parents shared, attaching her shorter self to the blonde's form in a cloying manner that was disgustingly sweet, yet covered a deeper layer of relief.

"Feeling better?" the words caught Mrs. Gamelthorpe-Lloyd's attention, and a single manicured nail was soon pressed to the striking brunette's cheek, drawing attention to its stark red color, "whatever are you talking about, Lila-dear?"

"Ah…nothing," pasting a sweet smile on her face, the mother of one caught herself in her words, Helga's expression of panic registering just a little too late, "Just, that I ran into the two of them the other day, and Helga was feeling ever-so-slightly under the weather."

"'Ever-so-slightly'?" her husband's eyebrow rose under a line of slicked back hair, large nose emphasizing the range of eye expressions he displayed in a matter of seconds, "more like panic atta--! Ow!" Lila's elbow somehow connected with Sid's stomach. Brainy and Nadine, looking alternately protective and worried, moved to the next aisle over, their children (appearing without notice) staking a wide variety of items upon the counter.

"Panic attack? What happened? Are you all right, Helga?" Nadine's words of concern spread a thick layer of sugar over the impish smile Rhonda was sporting, one finger tapping against an opposite, crossed arm.

"Um, yeah. It's all good. It was just a bad night, that's all," frantic eyes motioned for the cashier to ring faster, met by a grin that let her know that he wouldn't be letting drama like this pass him by. Helga scowled, and somehow that gave the cashier the incentive to speed things up.

"Bad night? You wouldn't have happened to be a date when you ran into one another, now would you?"

"Well, it looked--Ow!"

"Sid, _honey_. Don't you think it's time we left?"

"Why do you wanna know? Research for another _book_?"

"Helga, calm down. Rhonda, we're just fri--."

Multiple voices spoke over one another in tandem as the gossip queen merely looked on, smirk growing by the second. Just as the supermarket's manager started to take note, a new voice jumped in, silencing the rest.

"Not now, Rhonda."

Dark eyes blanched as her husband took her hand in his, the formerly comatose man coming fully awake as a need suddenly arose.

Thaddeus Gammelthorpe had fallen in love at the age of nine knowing exactly what his opposite's strengths and weaknesses were, right from the start. It had been the need to be her side that had oftentimes driven him to do crazy things, but now as an adult and father the craziness had somehow been settled into drive. Drive to keep her love; to support his Beloved in her quest to rule the world one conquest at a time. And especially to become the best, if most eccentric, father in Hillwood.

Insane determination having turned to dedicated understanding, he was the man he had always been meant to be. Brought out by a woman who, far beneath it all, was a decent human being.

And so it was this microscopic bit of conscience that he called upon in Helga and Arnold's time of need.

"Rhonda. _Not now._"

"But Curly, darling--!"

A gentle finger rested on ruby lips, and instantly one of the most important women in the city was distracted. By the eyes staring at hers via coke-bottle glasses, and the firm hand tracing her jaw, "this store doesn't have what Meridi-Mini needs. We have better places to go."

…_store doesn't have…better places…go…_

Key words filtered through the socialite's mind, switch the light of arrogant self-assurance on and easily rerouting her attention. For the time being.

"Of course! You're absolutely right, darling. I don't know why we even wasted our time at this second-rate souk," an arrogant sniff was bestowed upon the checkout lanes and their occupants, and then the married couple disappeared. Leaving awkward silence in their wake as the eavesdropping cashier once again returned to scanning, and Brainy and Nadine continued on their way, with a simple wave goodbye.

Soon all that remained were the last two couples. But it was only as the first transaction was totaled, and the second begun, that Lila rushed to Helga's side, tugging lightly on her sleeve as Arnold headed for the door and Sid was left to pay for the purchase.

The two women shared a full glance, Helga's one-side animosity brought back, yet smoothed over as Lila's features blossomed into a beauteous smile. The past dispelled without a word of warning, leaving the blonde with nothing to hold on to, and no knowledge of how to react.

"I'm ever so sorry for the slipup, Helga. I didn't mean to make things worse for the two of you. But I really am quite grateful that you're feeling better. I've been worried since the night of the theater, especially since my son's been mentioning that you haven't looked well lately, but it looks like Arnold's helped you through it all," green eyes shone up at crystalline blue, the short redhead beaming up at Helga.

"Um, yeah, he did," was the stumbling, embarrassed response, secretary's face flushing as she caught the emphasis the other mother placed on her words. A wince, then, "um, Lila. If you could actually keep that whole…_thing_ a secret, then that would be great. We're actually not dating, so…"

"I understand. No worries there, Helga. If I could keep quiet on certain occurrences in the past, I'm sure I'll be able to hold tight to the knowledge," solemnly, the nurse nodded, "Sid…will take some training, though. But have no doubts. Everything will be fine."

A half-monobrow arched, mixed with some sort of weird facial twitch, followed, and the former Sawyer woman had to remind herself that they weren't still in elementary school.

"Um, thanks Lila."

"No problem, Helga. Although," the other woman's words glued her to the spot, as Lila musingly spoke, "I do wonder if he knows about…it? And everything?"

Mouth dry, hands moist, Helga G. Pataki Billings affected a casual shrug, trying with all determination to not seem to care, even as a part of her wondered at Lila's interference, "…well, I guess you could say that we've talked about the past a bit."

"Good to hear," another beam, then a simple wave, ending the conversation, "I was curious, that's all. It's never good to keep secrets, after all."

"_Right._"

"Especially ones involving private muses and theater roles."

"…"

"Because, hypothetically speaking, if any such a relationship did exist, based upon past experiences and a meeting of hearts, I would definitely support it."

Expressionless eyes glared out from under a single bushy brow, "…_thanks_ Lila."

"Anytime. Good luck with your project," a sweet farm-girl smile shone through the parental façade, and for a second Helga imagined a set of red pigtails and a halo replacing the stylish shoulder-length bob.

And then Helga was out the door.

Arnold had already begun packing the items within his own car, not having keys to hers, and wordlessly she picked up where he had left off. Studiously silent, the teacher kept shooting her wordless glances, and after a period of silence she had finally had enough of it all.

"What, Football Head! Do I have something on my face, or are you going to tell me why you keep looking at me like that?" hands on hips, tormentor faced tormentee.

One shoulder rolled effortless in a eloquent shrug, "nothing. I was just wondering what happened. I mean, one second you were behind me and we were running for our lives, and the next you looked like you were trapped by Lila's laser-beam."

"It was nothing. Girl talk," the defensiveness increased a notch, and Helga scowled.

"Hmm. 'Kay."

They continued in silence. It was only as they closed the trunk and were able to separate that her top finally blew.

"It freaking happened again! Lila cornered me and dispensed some friendly 'advice'," fingers were used for quotation reasons before they immediately crossed over her chest.

"Really? What happened?" although a part of him knew that he should be upset to some extent, he couldn't help the sense of humor surrounding the whole situation. In the span of less than an hour they had been cornered by a variety of old friends, with all seeming to end up insinuating that they were meant to be together. That, on top of the conversations they'd had and the obvious spark shared, indicated that there was really only one person barring a future relationship between the two of them.

Helga herself.

Apparently she didn't see it that way, though.

"She just walked up to me and told me she'd been worried for me. And then sort of, just, casually spouted off a bunch of blackmail from when we were kids!" the tall woman was even going so far as to pace in her agitation.

"Are you sure it was blackmail? Maybe it was just her way of prompting you?"

"I wasn't a bully for years for nothing, Hair-Boy," she landed a steely glance upon him, and he held his hands up as though to show that it was just a suggestion, "I know blackmail when I hear it."

"In any case, it couldn't have been as bad as what happened with Rhonda. Or as eye opening as with Nadine and Brainy."

"That's a no-brainer. But…something doesn't feel right about it all. Doesn't it seem a little too coincidental?" anger turned with no obvious transition to speculation, and Helga's pacing immediately took on a different tone, "Six of our classmates just happen to run into us in the store after years of silence. On my part, at least," the concession brought on a shrug and received a nod.

The oval-headed father shrugged away her paranoia, "yeah, it _is_ a little weird. But, well, this _is _Hillwood. And people _do _tend to just randomly appear at the right moments here--you should know that better than anyone. I mean, I can't count the number of times you came upon me just when I needed you there."

If Helga had been an animated character, she thought absently, her expression of irony would have currently been emphasized by a glowing arrow floating above her head.

"And you yourself mentioned Brainy's odd stalking habits."

"Right, right. I mean, of _course _you're right. But, well, it's like those ninja kids," a valid, if slightly ridiculous, point was made, "it's like they knew we were going to be here. And Rhonda mentioned that she didn't normally shop for normal stuff, if it hadn't been her daughter sending her. Not too mention Lila and Sid's presence. Doesn't it all, I don't know, strike you as somewhat strange?"

A thought suddenly entered her mind, "Wait. Lila mentioned a project. How did she know we were working on a project? Not even Rhonda or Nadine and Brainy knew that was what we were working on. So how did she…?"

"Okay, now I'm confused."

"No, no, I think I've got something!"

'…_Those would be Deliah and Jonathan. From what I've heard from Bliss they're notorious in PS118…'_

'…_This isn't normally my 'thing,' as Meredith likes to say. But she requested I pick up some items for a project she's working on…'_

'…_Especially since my son's been mentioning that you haven't looked well lately…'_

"It's the kids," expressionless, emotionless, Helga said the words without an ounce of feeling; she was too astonished that she hadn't seen it sooner. Hadn't connected the odd comments aimed at each one of them, the snooping her son had done recently, and even the weird opportunities in which she and Arnold had been thrown together. In the past it had been her hand at work, but now…the flavor of the situation was different. Simpler, but no less sly. But it still held the same mischievous quality. A taste of youthful creativity.

"_What?_"

"Every single one of them mentioned their kids. Or their kids always had something to do with why they were there. And each one of them…they're known for specific things. Deliah and Jonathan. Meredith. Lila's brat."

An ironic eyebrow lift, "Dennis. One of my students."

"Yeah, him," a delicate cough neatly helped her avoid his pointed gaze.

It was with this in mind that Arnold finally shook his head, hands propped up on jean-covered hips, "You know, I'm starting to think that this all sounds a little too far-fetched. Even for being made up of our kids. Don't you think you're giving them just a little too much credit? Most aren't older than ten."

"Neither were we when we committed most of our schemes," a hand was withdrawn to start ticking off each occurrence upon her fingers, "What about Mighty Pete? The Pigeon Man?

"Yeah, but--."

"_Saving the neighborhood?_ We were younger than they are now."

"_Helga._"

"But it makes sense. Complete sense! Especially in light of our children's behavior," the blonde threw out the above-mentioned hand for emphasis.

Arnold couldn't help but sigh, "What are you talking about, Helga?"

"The past little while I've noticed that they've been acting strangely. Jonah, Elena, and the Triplets. And it's not just because of the move, on Jonah's part," she hastened to explain, "it's just that he's not exactly the best at keeping secrets--."

"Unlike his mother," Arnold threw in teasingly.

"--so I definitely know that he's been up to something."

Blue eyes swept up ponderingly, gazing above without really seeing the darkening sky.

Her trance was interrupted by a gentle tug, however, as her male companion unconsciously took one of her hands in his, fingers dwarfed by his own as he finally caved, "well, whatever it is, you know that Elena and the Triplets are definitely a part of it. Not a prank goes by without their approval, and it's not like they've been the epitome of innocence lately," a frown, "and now that I think of it, they all started acting strangely the day we were given our assignment for the dance. Principal Molte even remarked on it," surprised realization brought the duo to a stop and the two blondes exchanged a full glance of revelation.

"That would mean that a large part of PS118's student body is in on it, too, then."

"Then why haven't they done anything yet?" confusion colored his words, and absently the young father scratched at the light shadow of a beard upon his chin. Helga noted the act, and briefly wondered what he would look like with facial hair, before turning to other thoughts.

"It's always calmest before the storm. And if everyone's in on it, it's got to be big. So the next opportunity for a large event to occur would be…"

"_…the Winter Social._" the words were uttered once again in stereo, both parents reaching the same conclusion.

"Well, that would explain why Meredith was full of suggestions for the overall design of it. They've been planning everything right from the start," the teacher's hand once again rose to his chin in thought.

Helga's response was to lean back against the trunk of his car, leg crossing over the other, "well, they're probably not going to sabotage anything then. They wouldn't destroy their own creation."

"Yet everything they've done, and everything that's happened," Arnold added absently, remembering their recent escapade in the closet, "has revolved around us."

"_The Parent Trap._"

"What?"

"An old movie that got remade. A set of twins are trying to get their divorced parents back together," the secretary shrugged, "_The Parent Trap._"

"So the main thing we're going to have to worry about…is ourselves? _Boy Howdy_," silvering hair was sifted in his hands.

"Oh, don't worry. They won't be getting away with it," a satisfied smirk that was all Helga graced her features, bringing to mind all the pranks Arnold had ever fell victim to, "After all, no one plays a trick on Helga G. Pataki and gets away with it. No one. Not even my own son."

A shiver went down his spine, that wasn't entirely due to worry.

"And you're going to help me, Football Head."

"Okay, _now_ I'm worried."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

**AN:**

Well. What can one say when it's been as long as it has been, since my last update. Perhaps an "I'm Sorry," is in order. But then again, by the end of the explanation things might come out on equal grounds.

So, long version. At the beginning of October my landlords decided that it was time for us to leave. We tried and tried to find a place, but couldn't for some time. So they decided that an incentive was in order. They would give us until December 31 to move out, at which point we would be kicked out. But in the meantime, I would have to start paying $300 a month, rather than $200, what with my roommate having joined the army and me now having the room to myself.

My roommate and I determined that we were tired of the high-handedness, among other things, and just to be stubborn moved on November 1st. So that I wouldn't have to pay the extra rent. And so that we could finally have a place of our own. (So essentially we spent the October 30 finalizing our packing, the 31st enjoying Halloween, and the 1st moving boxes. Up to a 3rd floor apartment.)

We have since then been acclimating to our environment, each other on a more personal level, and unpacking. And now, in December, we're pretty much done. We've even decorated and have our tree, nativity, and outside lights up. Not too shabby all things considered. Between everything, however, BlueCastle (my roommie) and I have been dealing with family drama, however, one of her employees quitting (she's a manager for a gas station), and twice the amount of hours I'm used to (because I'm a reliable, older staff member working at a Toy Store). This, in addition to my brother, and her sister's, military graduations, emergency flights out of town, and lots of stress, has made for a bad work ethic regarding SSU.

So, truly, I am very sorry it took me so long to post this. It was written in bits and pieces over lunch breaks, before classes, and even once while freezing in my roommate's car, waiting for three hours for her to get off work. This has been the hardest chapter to write, but I feel deeply apologetic for how long you have all waited. There's no excuse for my lack of action.

Thankfully, though, the end is near.

**-Note 1:** Pig Skin is in reference to Footballs, which were originally made from leather from pigs, rather than cow hide.

**-Note 2: **Yes, Dr. Horrible is paraphrased in this. Because I'm silly like that. And no, I don't own it. Standard disclaimer applies.

**-Note 4:** The flow is choppy. I apologize. I tried to smooth is as best as I was able. C'est la vie. Also, the beginning is somewhat of an extension from 15, so at a later date I will probably remove this from 16 and replace it in 15, for continuity reasons.

**-Note 5:** Hugo and Alice are SquirrelTamer's Genderbender forms of Arnold and Helga. They have a large amount of similarities with the original characters, but just enough differences to make them truly enjoyable characters. Here's a shout-out to them!

**-Note 6:** I got a DVD 4-pack of the original four _Superman_ films (with Christopher Reeve) from my brother, who is made of awesomeness. :D My friend is also letting me borrow the first season of _Batman: The Animated Series_, having aired in 1993. (I was six years old at the time. And I was eight when Gargoyles came out.)


End file.
